■'My 


ii:m^ 


■/y'^m 


M^ 


■*^s^.^---' 


>««2 


ruBR^^i. 


SAN 


o\eGO 


No.  6 


Gallery 


OF 


Players 


FROM 


The  Illustrated  American 

(With  22  full-page  pictures  and  over   loo  portraits  in  character.; 


Edited  by 

MARWELL   HALL 


CnpvRic.HT,  iSt)s,  i)v  L()RILLAR1)  SPF.NCER,  401-40^  Hast  Twi  nty-thirp  Strhft,  New  York 


CONTEXTS 


lACK. 

PAGE.. 

-       4 

Burr  McIntosh, 

26. 

6 

Kathrvn  Kidder, 

-       2S 

-        S 

William  Faversham, 

30. 

lO 

Virginia  Harned, 

-    32- 

-       12 

Ji-'iiN  Maloxe, 

34- 

M 

May  Irwin, 

-     36- 

-     i6 

J.  H.  Barnes, 

38 

iS 

Mathilde  Cottrellv, 

-     40- 

-       20 

Harry  Woodruff, 

42: 

22 

Rosa  Sucher,  - 

-     44 

-      24 

Max  Alvary, 

46. 

Adelaide  Nkii.son, 
h.  j.  mo.ntagie,  - 
Bessie  Tyree, 
John  Le  Moyne, 
Mrs.  Gilbert,  - 
Wilton  Lackaye, 
Marie  Burroughs, 
E.  M.  Holland,    - 
Annie  Myers, 
W.  J.  Ferguson,    - 
Kate  Claxton, 


The  publisher  begs  to  acknowledge  his  appreciation  of  tlie  e.xcellent? 
work  of  the  following  photographers,  whose  cameras  have  contributed  to. 
the  success  of  this  volume  : 


Falk,  New  York. 
Sarony,  Xew  York. 
Schloss,  New  York. 
Prince,  Xew  York. 
Rockwood,  Xew  York. 
Kurtz,  Xew  York. 
Pach,  New  York. 


Baker,  Columbus,  O. 
Morrison,  Chicago,  IlL 
Barraud,  London,  England. 
Mendelssohn,  London,  England.. 
Thors,  San  Francisco,  Cal. 
Phillips,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 
Chickering,  Boston,  Mass. 


.\ll  photographs  in  the  Gallery  of  Pl.\yers  can  be  secured. at  Charles^ 
Ritzmann's,  945  Broadway,  Xew  York. 


I^UBLISHHRS   NUTH. 

ON  issuing  llic  ihiiil  miiiilxT  of  ihc  G.u.LKKV  ok  I'lavkrs  the  publisher 
lakes  llic  opportunity  of  tliaiikiujj  tlie  public  for  the  liberal  wav  in 
which  it  has  patronized  its  predecessors. 
Mr.  Charles  Kdc.  Nirdlingcr,  who  edited  the  preceding  number,  was  unable  to 
undertake  this  one  and  the  services  of  Mr.  Marwell  Hall  were  engaged.  "I  have 
broken  the  rule  laid  down  by  the  gentlemen  who  edited  the  two  preceding  num- 
bers of  the  (;.M.l.Ki;V  III'  I'l.AVKU.s. "  he  writes,  "in  that  1  have  entered  to  a  certain 
e.Ktent  into  biographical  details.  My  impression  is  that  playgoers  wish  to  know 
something  about  the  lives  of  their  stage  favorites.  Lord  X'erulam  has  it  that  '  the 
authority  of  the  many  doth  contravene  the  disdain  of  the  few. '  .\s  he  was  a  very 
wise  man  I  have  generally  tried  to  obey  his  rule  in  my  short  criticisms;  but  in  a 
few  cases  where  I  have  thought  the  minority  had  a  right  to  protest  against  •  the 
authority  of  the  many,'  I  have  given  them  a  hearing." 

I.iikll  I  AKll    Si'K.NCER. 

Office  of'VHV.  Ii.i.lsi  KA  rKi)  .A.mkrican. 


^,;^(V^^^    \^ 


%  ■^-■'.  * 


SIBYL 
SANDERSON. 


w 


^'*K 


r 


HEX  in  1889  Miss  Sibyl 

Sanderson  made  her  debut  at  the  Opera  Comique  in   Massenet's 
"  Esclarmonde,"  she  was  scarcely  known  in  Paris.     Even  in  the 
American   colony   comparatively   few  persons   had    met   her.      It  was 
rumored    among   artists  that  Massenet  had    written  an  opera  for  a 
(air  Californian  who  was  being  trained  by  the  master  to  play  the  title 
part,  and  that  he  was  wont  to  go  into  raptures  over  her  wonderful 
voice  and  promise   as  an  actress.     And  some  had  seen  Massenet 
dining  at  a  restaurant  m  the  Rue  Daunou  with  an  American  girl  accom- 
panied by  a  lady  who,  judging  from  the  likeness  of  the  two,  was  prob- 
-  -'  ably  her  mother.      Then  came  her  debut,  and  all  Paris  was  talking  about 

"  la  belle  Sanderson"  and  the  extraordinary  range  of  her  voice.  "  Esclar- 
monde "  ran  for  one  hundred  nights,  and  on  the  occasion  of  its  hundredth  performance 
Massenet  wrote  to  a  friend  in  this  country  that  the  success  of  his  work  "is  due  to  the 
unique,  incomparable  artist  who  has  created  the  role.  I  owe  it  to  an  American,  to  Miss 
Sibyl  Sanderson,  of  San  Francisco.  The  girl  has  an  extraordinary  voice  (from  the  G 
below  the  treble  clef  to  the  G  in  the  fourth  line  above),  and  it  is  not  only  the  compass 
which  is  extraordinary,  but  the  art  of  singing,  the  originality  and  the  dramatic  effect." 
Critics  differ  as  to  the  beauty  of  that  G  in  alt.  It  is  known  among  the  Parisians  as  the 
"Eiffel  Tower  note."  In  addition  to  this  great  compass  of  voice  Miss  Sanderson  is  a 
rata  az'is  in  opera — she  is  a  finished  actress,  the  only  American  woman  singer  of  the 
first  order  on  the  stage  to-day  who  can  be  called  so,  and  one  of  the  very  few  of  all 
'..?•  nations.  At  the  present  moment  we  can  think  of  none  other  save  Calve  and  one  or  two 
of  the  Wagnerian  singers.  Her  Juliette  is  conceded  to  be  far  superior  to  that  of  any 
'•-T-  "■  of  the  artists  who  have  played  Shakespeare's  heroine  to  the  accompaniment  of  Gou- 
nod's music  and  her  performance  of  this  part  placed  her  before  the  eyes  of  the  world 
among  the  great  artists  of  the  day.  But  sometime  before  this  she  had  become  the  most  popular 
singer  in  Fans.  She  had  become  a  public  character,  not  in  the  world  of  fashion,  where  she  is 
comparatively  unknown,  but  among  the  people  who  enjoy  music  for  music's  sake  and  do  not  go 
to  an  opera  house  to  gossip  or  to  see  what  their  neighbors  wear.  Very  beautiful  to  look  at ;  with 
a  voice  that  was  phenomenal;  a  dramatic  force  that,  as  we  have  already  said,  was  possessed 
by  few  on  the  operatic  stage;  known  to  be  one  of  the  best  dressed  women  in  Paris  and  with  a 
reputation  for  generosity  to  her  less  successful  brother  and  sister  artists,  the  pi'/i/  bourgeois  wor- 
shipped "la  Sanderson."  But  of  course  her  success  produced  jealousies.  It  was  in  the  early  part  of  this 
year  that  she  made  her  debut  at  the  Opera  House  in  Paris — the  Academic  Nationale  de  Musique.  Massenet 
had  written  for  her  the  title  role  in  "  Thais."  The  press  unanimously  condemned  the  piece,  but  could  not  help 
praising  the  American  artist  and  she  drew  crowded  houses.  Persons  who  were  envious  of  her  success  and  had  predicted  her  voice 
could  not  till  Garnier's  great  auditorium,  now  consoled  themselves  with  the  belief  that  when  she  tried  one  of  the  standard  grand  operas 
she  would  prove  a  failure.  But  their  hopes  were  dashed  to  the  ground  when  last  June  she  appeared  as  Juliette — a  part  she  had 
already  sung  at  Brussels  and  Nice.  Unwillingly  they  had  to  confess  that  she  had  proved  herself  an  artist  of  the  very  first  rank.  It 
was  this  success — a  success  that  not  one  of  the  Paris  critics  denied — which  led  to  Miss  Sanderson's  engagement  to  sing  opera  in  this 
country  the  coming  season. 

Miss  Sanderson  was  born  in  Sacramento,  Cal.      Her  father,  the  late  Judge  S.  W.  Sanderson,  was  Chief  Justice  of  the  State  Su- 
preme Court.      She  joined  the  Conservatoire,  in  Paris,  ten  years  ago,  and  it  was  there  Massenet  "discovered"  her. 


n^^O 


THi  )SE  who  saw  Charles  Coghlan  act  in  comedy  when  he  was  in  his 
prime  know  tliat  there  was  no  more  finished  player  on  the  English- 
speaking  stage.  He  had  received  his  dramatic  education  in  a 
school  which  is  denied  to  the  young  actors  of  the  present  day.  There  was  no 
better  training  ground  for  the  mummer  forty  years  ago  than  the  old  King  Street 
Theatre,  at  Bristol,  England.  The  work  was  very  hard,  the  discipline  was  equally 
severe  ;  but  it  turned  out  Kate  Terry  (Mrs.  Lewis),  Ellen  Terrv,  her  sister,  Madge 
Robertson  (Mrs.  Kendall,  Marie  Wilton  (Mrs.  Bancroft)  and  Charles  Coghlan  to  win 
their  laurels  in  London.  For  in  those  days  the  theatre  public  knew  that  even  the 
greatest  actors  did  not  spring  .Athene-like  fully  equipped  for  the  stage.  It  would  not 
stand  crude  amateurs  posing  as  professionals.  And  the  result  of  this  severe  training 
is  that  when  Charles  Coghlan  was  behind  the  footlights  he  never  appeared  to  be  acting. 
He  was  so  easy,  so  natural.  .Many  there  were  who  did  not  recognize  that  his  acting 
was  not  mere  nature,  but  art ;  for  there  are  many  who  imagine  that  it  is  as  easy  to 
take  a  seat  on  the  stage  as  it  is  in  a  parlor.  Sardou  was  asked  by  an  American 
actress  what  was  the  most  difficult  thing  in  acting.  "To  sit  down,"  he  replied.  And 
the  next?  "  To  get  up  again,"  was  the  answer.  And  Charles  Coghlan  gave  to  the 
most  simple  action  of  everyday  life  npon  the  stage  an  appearance  of  spontaneity  and 
naturalness  which  no  actor  of  his  day  could  equal.  But  in  addition  to  his  art  he  had 
a  hue  stage  presence  and  a  rich  voice  to  help  him. 

Wlien  the  late  Harry  Montague  left  the  Prince  of  Wales's  Theatre,  Charles  Coghlan 

took  his  place.      It  was  there  that  all  liobertson's  plays  were  first  produced,  and  its 

company  occupied  a  unique  position  in  London.      None  of  its  members  attempted 

\       to  eclipse  his  fellows,  to  monopolize  the  space  on  the  boards  or  the  attention  of 

^^       the  audience.     No  piece  was  ever  presented  there  that  had  not  been  thoroughly 

prepared,  and  there  was  no  slovenliness  even  in  the  least  important  accessories 


of  the  play.      It  was  an  e.xcellent  finishing  school  for  Coghlan  and  he  soon 

shared  with  that  most  delightful  of  stage  lovers,  Harry  Montague,  the  name 

of  being  the  best  yVz/z/e'  premier  on  the  English  stage.     In  1872  he  played 

the  part  of  Alfred  Evelyn  in  a  grand  reproduction  of  "Money,"  at  the 

first  performance  of  which  the  venerable  author  was  present.      Charles 

Coghlan  made  a  great  hit  and  his  fine  performance  distinctly  advanced  his 

reputation.     The  following  year  the  same  company  produced  "The  School 

for  Scandal,"  and  Coghlan's  Charles  Surface  was  as  near  perfection  as  it 

could  be.      But  alas!    when  it  came  to  his  playing  .Shylock  to  Ellen  Terry's 

Portia,  we  have  a  very  different  tale  to  tell.     He  had  overreached  himself.    He 

deliberately  avoided  not  only  traditional  points,  but  all  points  whatever.   Where 

emphasis  was  naturally  suggested,  it  seemed  that   he  purpo.sely  shunned  it. 

^  f    i  "^     M  ¥  ■  '"  ''»'"•  '^°''''"^'^y  hs  h'ld  often   held  his  forces  in  reserve  with  great  effect. 

U0^     /, ,  8     '        '  \  Here -he  did  it  to  such  bad  purpose  that  his  performance  nearly  ruined  the 

^ — '-^    '7x  ■'       '  -/  Bancrofts,  the  owners  of  the  theatre.      Soon  after  Mr.  Coghlan  severed  his 

connection  with  the  Bancrofts  and  came  to  try  his  fortunes  in  this  country. 

whither  his  sister  Rose  had  preceded  him.      When  he  returned  to  England 

he  found  the   Bancrofts  had  taken  the  Haymarket  and  there  he  appeared 

as  Loris  Iffanoff  in    "Fedora."     He  has  since  then  spent  much  of  his 

life  in   this  country,  where  he  was  for  some  time  received  with  much 

favor,  but  of  late  years  he  appears  to  have  lost  the  public  esteem.      He 

never  played  better  than  in  "  Diplomacy" — many  finding  his  Henry  Beauclerc 

superior  to  that  of  the  late  Lester  Wallack — when  his  sister  played  the  Countess  Zicka, 

at  Palmer's  Theatre,  New  York,  a  couple  of  years  ago.      Mr.  Coghlan,  besides  being 

an  actor,  is  a  playwright  of  more  than  ordinary  talent.      Many  years  ago  he  made  an  excellent  adaptation  of  "  La  Morte  Civile,"   in 

which  he  played  Salvini's  part,  and  he  also  wrote  •■  Lady  Barter,"  in  which  he  has  acted  with  Mrs.  Langtry  and  Miss  Rose  Coghlan. 


.-=:&i- 


-6- 


barged  with 


% 
1 


M 


^- 


H: 


lowing    account    of    Miss 
Delia     Fox    appeared    in    Thk 
Illustrated    American'    of 
September  5,  1891.     As  I  wrote  it  myself  I   canm 
giarism  if  I  reproduce  it  in  these  pages : 

•■  Miss  Fox  made  her  debut  in  this  wicked  world  of  ours  not  twenty 
years  ago,  and  St.  Louis  was  the  city  selected  for  the  scene  of  her  first 
triumph.      She  was  a  wee  little  toddler  when  her  parents  gave  her  an 
opportunity  of  growing  into  a  stage-struck  girl  by  allowing  her  to 
appear  on  the  amateur  stage  as  the  midshipmite  in  Gilbert  and  Sul- 
livan's  'pinafore,'  her  fellow  performers  being  prmcipally   taken 
from  the  church  choirs  of  St.  Louis.      The  glare  of  the  footlights. 
1,   .        the  charm  of  being  a  kind  of  public  character,  the  cheers  that 
the  little  midshipmite  in   'Pinafore'  always    does    get    as    he 
paces  up  and  down  the  hurricane  deck  of  Her  Majesty's  ship — 
these  helped  to  turn  the  child's  head,  and  much  to  the   hor- 
ror of  her  parents,  she  determined  to  become  an  actress. 
Small  though  she  was,   she  was  bright  and  clever    and 
often  got  an  opportunity  to  appear  in  some  play  with 
amateurs.      From  time  to  time  she  would   manage   to 
■     wheedle  her  parents  into  letting  her  play  a  child's  role 
with  some  professional  troupe.      When  only  nine  years 
'~^''*.  ^^^K       ^'P^  ■^  %.'^  \  old  Delia  Fox  played  for  a  week  in  St.  Louis  with  James 

liff^  .^^^^B        V^         '^"''ft  ^1^    /^^  ^  O'Neill    in   'A  Celebrated  Case.'     She  became  more  de- 

''«vj'--\_i  termined  than  e\er  to  go  on  the  stage.      But  little  girls  are  not 

;  always    allowed    to    choose    for  themselves — even    in  the   United 

States,  that  paradise  of  the  small  child.  Mi.ss  Fox's  parents  held  a 
council  of  war.  It  was  decided  that  it  was  high  time  that  their  daughter's 
mania  for  the  stage  should  be  checked.  A  verdict  was  rendered  that  the 
child  should  be  packed  off  to  a  boarding  school.  The  weeping  Delia  vainly 
•remonstrated.  Her  tears  and  the  stamping  of  her  little  foot  proved  of  no 
avail  and  to  school  she  went.  There,  in  the  company  of  a  number  of 
bread  and  butter  misses,  she  inked  her  chubby  fingers,  poked  them 
into  her  eyes,  strummed  through  her  piano  exercises,  solved  the  myster- 
ies of  the  multiplication  table  and  learned  a  certain  amount  of  French 
■of  Stratford-atte-Bowe.'  It  was  harsh  treatment  on  the  part  of  her 
,,  parents,  she  thought,  thus  suddenly  to  close  the  brilliant  career  she  saw 
before  her,  and  often  would  she  relate  to  her  wondering  fellow  pupils 
tales  of  her  former  triumphs.  Being  a  dutiful  daughter,  she  did 
manage  to  get  through  a  certain  amount  of  the  daily  task  set  for 
her,  but  she  continued  to  dream  of  the  stage,  and  she  had  only 
been  at  school  a  very  few  years  when  she  closed  her  desk, 
threw  aside  her  books  and  was  once  more  treading  the  boards. 
This  time  she  got  an  engagement  with  Miss  Marie  Prescott 
and  travelled  with  that  lady's  companv  for  five  weeks,  playing  minor  parts.  It  was  rather  uphill  work  and  poor  pay  at  first,  for  Miss 
Delia  found,  like  many  another  beginner,  that  opportunities  for  greatness  are  not  always  at  hand."  Later  she  joined  DeWolf  Hop- 
per's forces  and  caught  the  town  as  Mataya  in  "  Wang."  She  has  sinc^  been  raised  to  the  position  of  a  star  in  the  theatrical  firma- 
ment.     Whether  she  will  prove  a  shooting  star  or  not  remains  to  be  seen. 


Hv  7m'AV*'*Vtj  _ 


HENRY 


DIXEY 


1  IE  greatest  curse  that  ever  befell 
Henry  E.  Dixey,  so  far  as  his 
dramatic  career  is  concerned, 
was  tlie  unparalleled  success  he  had 
in  that  "  perversion  of  common  sense," 
Adonis."  Since  he  has  joined  Mr.  Daly's  company 
he  has  shown  he  is  made  of  sterner  stuff  than  most  burlesque  ac- 
tors. Meanwhile  he  has  wasted  his  talents  for  ten  years  upon  one 
farrago  of  nonsense  after  another.  That  he  will  ever  be  a  good 
comedian  is  hardly  probable.  If  he  does  he  will  be  an  e.xception 
wliich  tests  the  rule  that  good  mimics  never  make  first-class  actors. 
Uiit,  as  Adonis,  he  was  inimitable.  Good-looking,  a  wonderfully 
gr.icefnl  dancer  and  full  of  dry  humor,  he  kept  his  audiences  in  fits  of 
l.iiighter  for  years.  He  supplied  the  deficiencies  of  tlie  piece  and  kept  it 
on  tlie  stage  for  over  a  thousand  nights.  He  certainly  did  not  obey  the 
directions  given  to  players  through  the  mouth  of  Hamlet  by  that  poor  ac- 
,  the  late  Mr.  Shakespeare  :  "  Let  those  that  play  your  clowns  speak  no 
more  than  is  set  down  for  them."  Had  he  done  sc  the  public  would  have 
taken  a  very  early  farewell  of  "Adonis."  Di.\ey  felt  it  was  his  special  mis- 
sion to  jirovoke  laughter;  to  do  so  he  trusted  not  to  the  author  of  the  play, 
but  to  his  own  resouices,  h.is  natural  fountains  of  humor  and  to  his  extem- 
poraneous wit.  There  was  a  famous  physician — long  since  dead — whose 
'avorite  prescription  for  dyspeptic  patients  was  that  they  should  go  to  the 
iheatre  and  laugh  heartily.  If  dyspepsia  is  really  to  be  cured  by  imbibing 
draughts  of  merriment,  then  "Adonis"  Dixey  was  or  many  years  a  great 
improvement  on  pepsine  cV  /V/. 
was  originally  produced  in  Chicago  and  was  first  played  in  New  York 
Opera  House  on  the  night  of  September  4,  1884.  The  great  hit  made  by 
jrned  him  at  once  into  a  personage  of  national  importance  and  the  idol  of  the 
public.  His  comings  in  and  .goings  out  were  duly  noted  ;  his  ideas  upon 
every  kind  of  subject,  whether  he  knew  anything  or  not,  were  widely  chronicled ;  he 
was  even  interviewed  upon  art,  and  that  archangel  of  literary  purism,  Mr.  William 
Dean  Howells,  invited  him  to  write  an  article  for  his  magazine.  His  opinions  of 
.\merican  statesmen  were  quoted,  and  had  his  popularity  not  waned  by  then  he  would 
have  doubtless  given  the  .Senate  some  good  advice  about  the  tariff  bill  last  session. 
His  twenty-seventh  birthday  and  the  five  hundredth  performance  of  "Adonis"  were 
celebrated  in  New  York,  on  January  7,  1886,  by  a  ball  at  the  Metropolitan  Opera 
House  which  was  largely  attended.  In  the  spring  o(  the  following  year,  when  he  was 
on  the  point  of  starting  for  England,  a  banquet  was  given  to  him  at  Delmonico's,  and 
there  was  as  much  excitement  on  the  wharf  when  he  sailed  as  if  he  had  been  John  L. 
Sullivan.  His  arrival  in  London  was  celebrated  by  another  banquet  which  was  at- 
tended by  the  American  Minister,  and  Americans  were  almost  as  much  interested  in 
what  Dixey  was  doing  across  the  water  as  in  the  engagement  of  president  Cleveland, 
which  had  just  been  announced.  But  London,  though  it  admired  Dixey,  did  not  care 
for  "  Adonis,"  which  it  called  a  "  harlequinade  of  pantomime  minus  wit."  However, 
another  banquet,  at  which  the  late  Carter  Harrison  presided,  celebrated  the  one  thou- 
sandth performance  of  the  piece.  In  18S9  Di.xey  appeared  at  the  Standard  (New 
York)  in  "The  Seven  Ages."  In  the  last  age  he  rose  above  the  level  of  caricature 
and  gave  an  admirable  sketch  of  a  jollv,  genial  old  grandfather.  In  1890  he  appeared  in  '■  Rip."  ISut  "Adonis"  Dixey  was  no  more. 
New  favorites  had  arisen,  and  when  lately  he  has  appeared  in  his  former  success,  Dixey  has  failed  to  draw.  The  American  theatre- 
going  public  is  not  a  loyal  one — almost  as  fickle  as  the  Paris  public.  But  Mr.  Dixey  has  boldly  put  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel  in  a 
higher  plane  of  acting  than  he  has  hitherto  attempted.  He  has  so  far  done  well.  With  hard  work  he  may  yet  regain  his  hold  on  our 
playgoers  and  we  sincerely  trust  he  mav. 


■-5«^ 


(Kniinii  )ihi>li»^riit>)t  I»y  Siiroiiy,  New  \'i»rk  ) 


\^U 


r^  . 


^&:^ 


A 


y 


/ 


LOTTA. 

T  was  in  the  iate  fifties  that  a  little  girl  of  about  eleven  years  of  age 
danced  and  sang  herself  into  the  hearts  of  the  ••forty-niners"  at 
San  Francisco.    Her  father,  bitten  by  the  gold  fever,  had  migrated 
from  New  York  to  the  Pacific  and  was  engaged  in  hunting  for  the  yel- 
low metal,  and  his  tiny  daughter  became  the  pet  of  his  brother  miners. 
Whenever  she  appeared  at  Gilbert's  Melodeon,  gold  instead  of  bou- 
quets was  thrown  to  her,  and  often  she  would  pick  up  from  the  stage 
a  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  dust  and  small  nuggets.     Such  was  the 
commencement  of  Miss  Lotta  Crabtree's  most  honorable  career  on  the 
stage — a  career  that  has  been  closed — temporarily,  we  hope — by  severe 
sickness.      Lotta  was  sui\(^i-!!ei'ts.     She  created  a  style  of  acting  which  has 
since    been   frequently   imitated,   but  never  equalled.      A  vivacious  Jittle 
creature  full  of  ine.xhaustible  ebullitions  of  animal  spirits  and  droll  char- 
acter— no    one    else — at    any  rate    on    the    American    stage — has  ever 
been  able  to  play  the  pranks  to  \vhi('h  this  little  lady  gave  free  rein 
without  falling  mto  coarseness.     There  was  a  roguishness  of  innocent 
childhood  about  her  which  was  perhaps  the  most  winning  quality  of 
her  acting.  _  Her  imitators  have  tried,  and  we  think  in  vain,  to  as- 
sume her  childlike  innocence  on  the  stage,  but  have  only  managed 
to  don  a  very  thin  veneer.   The  innocence  of  the  child  degenerates 
into  the  archness  of  the  coco/if.    Whereas  with  Lotta  the  rogu- 
ery   always    appeared    .-spontaneous,   with    her   imitators   it 
seems  to  have  been  well  thought  over  and  carried  out  with 
the  aid  of  .--tage  trickery.      When  Lotta  appeared  at  her  best 
she  made  the  audience  forget  the  stage  and  its  accessories. 
It  was  not  in  pathetic  parts  that  she  was  at  her  best.    Take,  for 
instance,  the  two  roles  she  played  in  "The  Old  Curiosity  Shop." 
Little  Nell  and  The  Marchioness.     As  the  first  she  was  a  charmingly 
pretty  child,  but  artificial  and  ineffective;  but  as  Dick  Swiveller's  card 
opponent  she  was  eccentric,  droll,  mischievous,  sometimes  touching  and 
invariably  characteristic.     She  could  not  express  pathos.      She  was  out  of 
place  in  deatn  scenes,  but  as  the  sharp-witted,  half-starved  maid  of  all  work  she 
showed  with  subtle  skill  the  gradual  change  from  a  state  of  physical  depletion  to 
a  state  of  good  health  and  comeliness.      One  of  her  cleverest  performances  was 
in  the  play  "  Mam'zelle  Nitouche, "  in  which  she  assumed  three  parts.      It  was 
not  as  artistic  a  performance  as  Madame  Judic  had  given  in  the  same  piece,  but 
it  was  full  of  sprightliness  and  never  flagged.      .More  farcical  than  subtle.  Lotta 
threw  herself  into  the  frolic  with  such  relish  and  abandonment,  her  glee  was  so 
superabundant,  her  agility  so  impish,  that  should  she  ever   appear  again  on  our 
stage  Nitouche  will  be  one  of  her  leading  parts. 

Lotta's  career  on  the  American  stage  has  been  a  most  successful  one.      The 

one  bitter  disappointment  of  her  life  as  an  artiste  was  her  failure  in  London. 

This  was  principally  caused  by  the  injudicious  way  in  which  her  first  appearance 

had  been  heralded.      She  was  announced  as  "  the  representative  American  comedienne" 

and  as  the  "dramatic  cocktail,"  and  the  British  public  was  told  of  her  virtues,  her  wealth 

and  dazzling  talents;   how  her  coming  would  be  a  sort  of  revelation  to  London,  which  had  never 

seen  anvthing  so  great  from  America  before.     Then  she  appeared  as  Musette,  the  worst  part  in 

fier  repertoire,  and  the  result  was  a.  fiasco.     The  critics  appreciated  her  talent,  though  they  damned  the 

play  she  appeared  in.     The  London  "gods"  are  very  outspoken  when  they  don't  like  a  play  or  a  player; 

Musette  was  hissed  and  the  company  guyed.      It  soon  returned  to  its  native  heath.      Lotta  was  born  in  New  York,  on  November  7, 

1847.      She  returned  from  California  in  1863  and  made  her  first  appearance  in  the  East  at   Niblo's   (iarden.  New  York.      Her  first 

great  success  was  made  in  the  "  Fire  Fly,"  in  the  same  year,  at  the  Star  (then  Wallack'sj  Theatre. 


(l-nmi  :i  phulDKrapli  by  Snrnnv,  New  York.) 


'  ^^^2^W'MrO^M^ 


■^^^0 


MR.  ROliEKT  i;.  .MAXTKLL  is  to-day  one  oi 
the  most  graceful  ami  refined  of  actors  on  tlie 
American  stage.      This  he  has  only  become 
by  dint  of  hard  work.      He  has  great  natural   advan- 
tages.     He   is   so  well    proportioned  that  one  does  not  realize  that  he  is  over 
si.\  feet  in  height:  he  has  a  remarkably  handsome  face  ^nd  a  good  voice. 
Hut  when  he  first  appeared  among  us  he  was  rather  awkward  in  action  and 
ungraceful  in  deportment.      That  was  in    1874,    when  he    appeared    in    the 
company  of  Madame   .Modjeska.     He  had  made  an  attempt  four  years  be- 
fore to  get  an  engagement  at  the   ISoston   Museum,  but  had   failed   and  returned  to 
England. 

About    five  years  have  passed  smce  his  appearance  here.      Sardou's  "Fedora"  is 

being  produced  for  the  first  time  in  this  country,  at  the   Fourteenth  Street  Theatre, 

New  York.     In  the  middle  of  the  third  act  Loris  Ipanoff  enters  and  recites  to  the 

assembled  guests  how  he  had  killed  Fedora's  betrothed.  \"ladiniir.  with  his  own 

hand.      It  is  a  great  scene   and  one  that  would  be  wholly  spoiled  by  a  false  step. 

But  on  this  occasion  the  actor  was  .so  noble  of  bearing  and  so  refined  in  demeanor ; 

told  the  story  of  how  the  treacherous  Vladimir  had  fallen  by  his  hand  with  so 

much  realism  and  such  an  intense  passion,  which  was  never  torn  into  tatters,  that 

the  audience  was  electrified.      Such  a  spectacle   had  never  been  seen    before 

in  a  New  York  playhouse.      From  the  stalls  to  the  gallery  arose  screams,  sobs 

and  hysterical  laughter.      .And  the  young  actor  who  was  the  cause  of  all  this 

unwonted  excitement  was  Robert  B.   .Mantell. 

During  the  years  that  had  elap.sed  between  his  New  York  triumph  and  his 
first  appearance  with  Mnie.  Modjeska,  Mr    Mantell   had    gained    great  ex- 
perience on    the    stage    in  the   L'mted  Kingdom.      Scotland  is  his  native 
lieath,  and  he  was  born  at  Irvine,  Ayrshire,  on  February  7,   1S54.      His 
father,  however,  had   come  from  across  the  border,   but  his  mother  was 
a  Scotchwoman.     \Vhen  he  was  a  child  his  family  moved  to  Belfast,  and 
there  soon  after  he  left  school  he  made  his  first  appearance  on  the  amateur 
stage  as  De  Mauprat  in   "Richelieu."     He  had  been  stage-struck  while 
he  was  yet  a  schoolboy,  much  to  the  detriment  of  his  classical  studies, 
which  he  neglected  in  favor  of  plays.      His  success  as  an  amateur  soon  led 
to  his  adopting  the  stage  as  a  profession,  which   did  not  please  his  God- 
fearing, church-going  parents;  and  he  appeared  as  a  professional  in  1874  un- 
der the  name  of   Hudson.     When  he  returned  from  Boston  he  played  for  four 
\ears  through  the  English  provinces  with  various  theatrical  companies,  thereby 
^,    gaining  invaluable  stage  experience.      .-Vfter   his  engagement  with   Mnie.  Mod- 
^       jeska  was  concluded  he  played  for  a  year  and  a  half  as  Dicky  Freely  to  the  Otto 
of  the  late  George  S.  Knight.      In    "Forbidden   Fruit"   he  played  Cato  Dore  to 
ivnight's  Buster. 

Once  mure  we  find  him  in  the  English  provinces  playing  tragedy,  comedy  and 
nielodrama.      For  some  time  he  was  leading  man  to  Miss  Wallis,  who  was  in  those 
(lays  a  great    favorite  in  legitimate  parts  in  the   provinces.      With   her  he    played 
Romeo — and  a  very  charming  Romeo  he  made — Macbeth,  Charles  Surface,   Bene- 
dick, lago,  Othello,  Young  .Marlowe,  and  it  is  said  even  tried  his  hand  at  Richard  III.     He  was  about  twenty-.seven  years  old  when 
his  engagement  with  Miss  Wallis  came  to  an  end.      Few  if  any  actors  of  his  age  could  boast  of  such  an  extensive  repertoire  as  he. 
Then  he  supported  Marie  de  Grey,  a  very  beautiful  woman  but  a  very  wretched  actress,  as  Leicester  in  "  Kenihvorth." 

Miss  Fanny  Davenport  brought  him  back  to  this  country  to  play  Ipanoff.  When  his  performance  became  the  talk  of  the  town 
that  lady  determined  to  engage  another  leading  man.  She  did  so  and  he  played  the  part  well ;  but  nobody  could  do  it  as  Robert 
.Mantell  had  and  the  public  refused  to  go  and  see  "  Fedora."     So  .Mantell  once  more  thrilled  his  audiences  as  Loris. 


-14- 


t^KK 


(Kruin  a  |>liuto|;raph  l>y  Saroiiy,  New  Vork.) 


^rrr:^rr^^ 


S 


H 


ISABEL    IRVING. 

I  )\\"  our  ancestors  would  stare  could  they  but  rise 
from  their  graves  and  see  the  social  position  now 
occupied  by  the  nineteenth  century  representatives 
of  those  whom  they  used  to  class  with  "  vagrom-men. "  How  much  more  would 
such  of  them  as  lived  in  the  Elizabethan  age  —  for  all  of  us  must  have  had  ancestors 
Hving  at  that  period,  though  we  may  not  know  their  names — be  astonished  did  they 
learn  that  every  year  the  stage  is  becoming  a  more  popular  means  of  livelihood 
among  young  women  of  gentle  birth  and  relined  education.  Astonished  they  well 
might  be  considering  that  in  their  day  women's  parts  were  always  taken  by  young 
men  or  boys.  Most  of  us  have  heard  how  Charles  II.  -of  England  became  impa- 
tient one  night  at  theatre  to  have  the  play  begin,  and  Davenant — Shakespeare's 
reputed  son — explained  the  delay  by  saying,  "  Sire,  they  are  shaving  the  Queen." 
It  was  not  until  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century  that  a  W'oman — a  certain 
Mrs.  Betterton — playetl  for  hire  on  the  English  stage.  Attires  joins  aiitrcs  imvitrs. 
Even  within  the  last  twenty  years  a  great  change  has  taken  place  in  this  respect. 
Whereas  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago  the  adoption  of  the  stage  by  a  young  woman 
of  birth  and  breeding  would  have  made  a  sensation  and  been  published  to  the  world 
by  the  newspapers  with  startling  headlines,  nowadays  such  an  event  is  oftentimes 
not  chronicled  at  all,  and  if  it  is,  has  not  more  than  a  "stick"  devoted  to  it.  But 
in  these  latter  days  our  female  population  has  grown  to  be  enormous  and  we  have 
emancipated  ourselves  to  a  great  extent  from  conventional  trammels,  so  that  there 
is  a  wider  range  of  employment  for  women  of  intelligence  and  independence.  Most 
parents  are  reluctant  to  see  their  children  adopt  the  profession  of  the  stage,  but  the 
fact  remains  that  a  considerable  number  of  well-born  and  well-educated  girls  have 
become  actresses  during  the  last  few  years,  both  in  this  country  and  in  England. 
The  fashion  does  not  appear  to  have  reached  any  other  countries.  There  is  no 
reason  why  it  should  not  be  so.  Why  should  the  stage,  which  demands  more  spe- 
cial qualifications  than  many  of  the  occupations  now  being  adopted  by  emancipated 
woman,  be  shut  to  those  who  possess  characters  and  capacities  to  fit  them  for  the 
career  ?  The  question  has  been  asked.  Why  should  its  perils  be  necessarily  more 
imminent  than  those  which  attend  the  life  school  and  the  Bohemian  intercourse  of 
artist  life  ?  And  the  answer  given  is.  The  female  doctor,  the  hospital  nurse,  the 
district  visitor — there  is  no  calling  to  which  admirable  women  devote  themselves, 
and  which  philanthropy  commends,  that  is  not  e.xposed  to  misapprehension  and 
danger.  Their  safeguard  lies  in  the  strong  shield  of  purity  and  truth  and  devotion 
to  their  cause,  which  wards  ofT  the  shafts  that  would  assail  them.  And  so  it  has 
been,  so  it  may  be,  on  the  stage.  .An  actress  devoted  heart  and  soul  to  Iter  cause, 
a  girl  with  a  high  standard  of  right,  electing  the  clean  and  noble  walks  and  not 
the  filthy  alleys  of  theatrical  life,  can  keep  herself  as  unsullied  from  the  mud  as  in 
any  other  position.  But  the  worst  of  this  change  of  sentiment  with  regard  to 
the  stage  is  that  it  has  introduced  on  our  boards  a  number  of  young  women 
who  possess  no  particle  of  divine  instinct  and  inspiration,  as  Tully  says,  and 
s,^^™™^,  ^-  -:»,^^  ■-  will  never  be  anything  but  mere  sticks  behind  the  footlights.      An  exception, 

^1^^^^  ,  i*^!**^'  however,  must   be  made  in  the  case  of   Miss   Isabel   Irving.     Born  and   bred  in 

^I'^^^JUBBSy^^-^.t"      X  Bridgeport,  Conn.,  she  spent  her  young  days  amid  refined  surroundings.      When  .she 

of  J ,  1^   _'-^«->  "ji'ja  reached  years  of  discretion  she  made  up  her  mind  to  go  on  the  stage.      She  had  had  no  experi- 

ence whatever,  but  she  had  heard  of  the  kindly  heart  of  the  late  Rosina  \'okes  and  to  her  she 
applird  for  an  opening.  Mrs.  Clay  was  much  taken  with  the  tall,  fair-haired,  handsome  girl  and  presently 
engaged  her  as  an  understudy.  In  January,  1SS7,  the  lady  who  was  playing  the  role  of  Gwendolin 
Hawkins  in  "  The  Schoolmistress  "  was  unable  to  appear  and  at  twelve  hours'  notice  Miss  Irving  played 
the  part,  and  so  much  to  Mrs.  Clay's  liking  that  she  remained  in  the  company  for  a  year.  In  November,  1888.  she  joined  Augustin 
Daly's  company  and  played  Failh  in  ••The  Last  Word,"  Audrey  in  "As  Vou  Like  It,"  Maria  in  ••The  School  for  Scandal,"  Susan 
in  "A  Night  Off,"  Oberon  in  ".-X  Midsummer  Night's  Dream"  and  Helen  in  '•The  Hunchback."  She  is  at  present  under  the  man- 
agement of  Mr.  Frohman.      .Miss  Irving  has  a  future  before  her.      .She  is  very  fair  to  look  upon,  and  she  is  intelligent. 


^v 


JAMES    LEWIS. 


although  we 
lives — maybe 
It  is  because 


'i!)UNG  and  old,  we  all  call  him  "Jimmy, 
may   have  never   spoken   to   him  in  our 
have  never  even  seen  him  off  the  stage, 
when  he  is  playing  he  appears  to  treat  each  member  of  the 
audience  as  an  acquaintance,  that  before  the  piece  is  over  we 
end  by  imagining  that  we  know  him  intimately.      The  buoy- 
ancy of  his  spirits  is  so  catching,  his  manner  so  overflows  with 
good  nature  and  enjoyment,  that  he  continually  suggests  to 
you  that  he  is  not  actmg  but  simply  amusing  himself  and  a 
mixed  company  of  friends.      Whatever  he  plays,  he  is  always 
James  Lewis,  but  you  never  grow  weary  of  his  quaint,  whim- 
sical humor  and  his  broad  dashes  of  comedy.     Vou  r;now  full  well 
that  no  other  individuality,  however  strongly  or   lumorously  it  be  con- 
ceived, can  be  so  agreeable  as  that  of  this  great  comedian,  who  has  no 
superior  and  few  equals  on  the  dramatic  stages  of  the  world.      It  has  been 
truly  said  of  him  that  "  he  slips  into  a  character  as  into  a  transparent  garment, 
allowing  his  own  comical  personality  to  shine  through  it."    He  puts  his  whole  self  '    , 

into  a  part.    When  he  explodes  a  jest  his  whole  mmd  has  been  given  to  it.    With  V^j, 

him  a  few  words  are  sufficient  to  express  what  would  need  whole  sentences  to  i  f 

others ;  he  can  make  a  syllable  serve  for  a  sentence,  a  look  suffice  for  a  paragraph.  \  i    - ,, 

And  what  a  wonderful  gallery  of  portraits  lies  in  that  heart-easing,  mirthful  face  \ 

of  his!     How  easily,  out  of  that  abundant,  good  store  of  spirits  which  he  pos- 
sesses, can  he  tickle  your  sense  of  the  ridiculous!     How  dry  his  humor!     How 
sly  his  fun ! 

It  was  an  accident  that  gave  James  Lewis  a  chance  of  helping  to  relieve  the 
world  of  some  of  its  dull  care.      He  was  a  lad  of  nineteen,  teaching  school  at 
Troy,  N.  Y.,  where  he  was  born  in  1840.      An  actor  friend  who  was  playing  at  the  Museum 
asked  him  to  fill  his  part — a  small  one — while  he  ran  down  to  New  York  for  a  night  or  two. 
Lewis,  who  had  a  weakness  for  the  stage,  consented,  learned  the  part  in  a  few  hours  and 
played  it  satisfactorily.      The  fascinations  of  New  York  appear  to  have  been  too  much  for 
the  friend,  for  he  did  not  return  to  the  city  of  collars  and  cuffs,  and  so  James  Lewis  slipped 
into  his  shoes  at  the  Museum.      He  kept  his  counsel  to  him.self,  and  his  family  began  to  won- 
der where  "Jimmy  "  spent  his  evenings.      One  night  his  sister  went  to  the  theatre.      We  can  wel 
imagine  her  astonishment  when  she  recognized  in  the  comic  man,  her  brother.      But  she  said  noth- 
ing about  her  discovery  to  anyone  save  their  mother,  who  regarded  this  new  departure  as  a  boyish 
■"    "  •  escapade  and  thought  it  wiser  not  to  interfere,  never  doubting  that  her  son  would  soon  get  tired 

of  the  stage.      Master  James,  in  the  meanwhile,  was  remaining  under  the  happy  delusion  that  he 
,    had  not  been  found  out.      The  denouement  came  at  last.      There  was  a  scene.      The  lad  refused 
to  give  up  the  profession  of  an  actor  and  soon  drifted  out  West  with  a  strolling  company. 
Mr.  Lewis  gained  his  first  recognition  in   New  York  city  as  a  member  of  Eliza  Holt's  burlesque 
company  while  playing  the  role  of  Lucretia  Borgia  in  a  burlesque  of  that  name.      He  convulsed  the 
town  with  his  humor  and  for  a  whole  season  kept  the  house  packed  by  his  impersonation  of  that  much  wrongly  abused  lady.      This 
engagement  had  been  preceded  by  one  at  the  Olympic  Theatre,  New  York,  then  under  the  management  of  the  perennial  I\irs.  John 
Wood,  which  his  friend  Artemus  Ward  had  obtained  for  him.      Before  that  he  had  been  playing  in  the  South  and  was  present  at  the 
inauguration,  in  1861,  of  Jefferson  Davis,  as  President  of  the  Confederacy,  at  Richmond.     He  escaped  from  Savannah  by  the  last 
steamer  that  was  allowed  to  leave  that  port  for  the  North. 

It  was  in  1879  that  Mr.  Lewis  joined  Augustin  Daly's  famous  company  of  comedians,  and  he  has  ever  since  remained  faithful  to  that 
manager,  never  having  been  touched  by  the  starring  craze.  At  Daly's  Theatre  he  proved  himself  unequalled  in  his  particular  line  of 
comedy,  and  when  the  company  has  been  in  London  the  critics  have  recognized  him  as  unequalled  on  their  stage.  Whether  it  be  in 
one  of  these  rollicking  farces  which  Mr.  Daly  translates  from  the  German,  or  in  a  Shakespearean  play,  Mr.  Lewis's  brilliant  comic 
powers  are  equally  telling.  No  one  has  in  our  day  shown  us  such  a  Touchstone — who  •'  was  his  folly  like  a  .stalking  horse  and  under 
his  presentation  of  th:  t  shows  his  wit  " — as  he.  Verily,  to  quote  what  Hazlitt  said  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  "  it  is  pride  and  happiness  enough 
for  us  to  have  lived  at  the  same  time  with  "  Mr.  Lewis.      With  him  among  us  we  need  not  despair  of  the  .American  stage. 


«««*,■ 


—  1 8— 


A  scandal   did   not 


IXTY  years  ago  the  English-speak- 
ing  stage    was  a  very   severe 
school.    Without  fear  of  a  charge 
of  being  unduly  hiiidator  iciiiporis  acti,  one  may  state 
it  produced  a  far  better  average  of  "mummers  "  than 
that  same  stage  can  show  to-day.     Sixty  years  ago 
the  player  commenced  his  career  at  the  bottom  rung 
of  the  ladder  and  worked  his  way  laboriously  up. 

make  a  star  in  those  davs;  the  revelations  of  a  divorce  court  did  not  supply  the  lack 
V  of  sacred  fire,  nor  a  costly  wardrobe  the  want  of  training.  The  pernicious  star  sys- 
tem had  certainlv  been  introduced  some  time  before  by  Sarah  Siddons,  but  stars 
were  few  and  far  between  and  only  reached  that  rank  in  the  theatrical  firmament 
after  years  of  toil  had  developed  an  e.Ktraordinary  talent.  Stock  companies  flour- 
ished,'and  in  those  days  theatrical  managers  put  all  their  strength  into  these  com- 
panies. It  was  not  at  all  uncommon  for  a  stock  company  to  consist  of  thirty  or 
forty  persons.  At  the  principal  theatres  each  member  was  excellent  in  his  or  her 
specialtv.  Three  weeks  was  considered  a  long  run  for  a  piece.  As  a  rule  the  bill 
was  completely  changed  each  night.  It  generally  consisted  of  three  plays,  the  last 
being  a  farce,  and  between  the  acts  a  song  or  dance  was  performed.  Of  course, 
this  continual  change  in  the  bills  gave  the  members  of  these  stock  companies  a 
great  deal  of  work,  but  it  also  gave  them  an  enormous  amount  of  experience,  and 
they  were  ready  at  the  shortest  notice  to  fill  a  part  m  any  of  the  standard  plays.  The 
pit  held  the  true  censors  of  the  drama.  There  sat  men  who  attended  every  first 
night,  made  a  regular  study  of  the  drama,  and  had  the  tradition  of  the  stage  at  their 
fingers'  ends.  Thev  could'make  a  play  or  mar  an  actor,  and  woe  betide  the  careless 
player  who  sought' their  verdict.  That  an  actor  should  not  know  his  part  was  an 
impossibility  then,  for  managers  insisted  that  the  members  of  their  companies  should 
be  word-perfect  at  the  first  rehearsal  of  each  play. 

Such  was  the  English-speaking  stage  when  that  evergreen  actress,  Mrs.  John 
Drew,  first  appeared  on  it.  She  was  a  tiny  tot  when  she  made  her  debut  in  1S24 
as  Agib  in  ••  Timour  the  Tartar,"  at  the  Liverpool  Theatre,  for  she  had  been  born 
in  London  but  six  years  before.  Her  mother,  Mrs.  Kinloch,  who  died  only  a  com- 
paratively short  time  ago,  brought  her  to  this  country.  In  September,  1827,  "  Little 
Louisa  Lane,"  as  Mrs.  Drew  was  then  called,  made  her  first  bow  to  an  American 
audience  at  the  Walnut  Street  Theatre,  Philadelphia.  She  played  the  Duke  of  York 
to  the  Richard  III.  of  Junius  Brutus  Booth,  whom  the  rivalry  of  Edmund  Kean  had 
•  ';  driven  out  of  London. 
'■  That  stage  excrescence,  the  "infant  prodigy,"  was  then  as  much  in  vogue  in  this 
country  as  it  has  been  during  the  last  few  years,  and  the  small  Louisa  had  a  great  success, 
playing  in  one  piece  as  manv  as  five  different  parts.  In  1833  we  find  her  a  member  of  the 
stock  companv  of  the  old  Bowery  Theatre,  in  New  York,  where  she  took  part  in  a  constant 
round  of  legitimate  pieces  and  laid  the  foundation  for  that  fame  she  has  since  gained  of  being 
the  finest  woman  exponent  in  this  country  of  old  comedy  parts.  Five  years  later  she  re- 
turned to  the  Walnut  Street  Theatre  and  married  Henry  Hunt,  a  well-known  vocalist  of  that 
day.  At  Walnut  Street  she  became  the  leading  juvenile  lady,  and  there  in  1S39  played  the 
part  of  Julie  de  Mortemar  on  the  first  production  of  BuKver  Lytton's  ••  Richelieu  "  in  this  country.  Edwin  Forrest  took  the  part  of 
the  Cardinal  which  Mrs.  Drew  will  tell  vou  she  considers  one  of  his  finest  performances,  as  he  was  less  robust  in  it  than  in  others. 
And  she  will  perhaps  add  that  in  her  opinion  Macready,  whom  she  supported  in  later  years,  was  far  the  tiner  actor  of  the  two  and  a 
man  of  infinitelv  superior  education.  During  the  season  of  1S41-42  Mrs.  Hunt  was  playing  in  the  old  standard  comedies  at  the  Chest- 
nut Street  Thektre,  in  Philadelphia,  and  in  1^848  became  the  wife  of  Mossop,  the  Irish  comedian.  He  died,  and  in  1850  she  married, 
at  Albany,  John  Drew,  who  was  a  favorite  both  in  this  country  and  in  England. 


-••» 


i*^^.--'-'- 


'^imi 


CRANE. 

I-IOUT  eighteen  months  ago  Mr.  William  H,  Crane  was  entertained 
by  the  Society  of  .American  Play\vrigh:s — which  has  a  very  strong 
foreign  element  in  it — in  appreciation  of  what  he  had  done  in  fur- 
thering the  interests  of  the  "native  dran.atists. "     Mr.  Crane  says  he  be- 
eves in  a  great  future  for  the  .American  drama,  and  the  result  of  his  belief 
that  he  has  presented  the  American  public  with  a  remarkable  gallery  of  na- 
ional  portraits.      On  this  occasion  the  famous  comedian  was  modest  enough 
to  say  that  he  owed  his  success  to  the  American  playwright.     But  the  world 
at  large  differs  with  him.     Even  the  Senator,   the  best  of  the  five  characters 
provided  for  him  by  "native"  brains  since   1890,  would  not  have  proved  the 
great  success  it  was  and  is  in  other  hands.     It  was  Messrs.  David  D.  Lloyd  and 
-Sidney  Rosenfeld  who  sketched  Mr.  Hannibal  Rivers,  and  very  cleverly  they  did 
it ;  but  it  was  William  H.  Crane  who  boldly  added  the  color  to  the  canvas  which 
makes  the  Senator  the  cleverest  national  portrait  of  the  day.      And  nowhere 
was  his  power  of  making  a  living  picture  out  of  a  feebly  drawn  sketch  so  well 
shown  as  in  his  creation  of  John  Hacket,  in  Miss  Martha  Morton's  "Brother 
John."     The   play  is  illogical  and   insignificant.     Mr.   Crane's  acting  gives  it 
meaning  and  coherence,  and  even  the  appearance  of  power.      He  may  not  be  a 
giant  in  his  profession,  but  he  has  succeeded  in  gaining  as  great  a  hold  on  the 
.American  theatre-going  public  as  any  comedian  on  our  stage.      Indeed,  we  are 
not  sure  if  he  has  not  a  greater  one,  especially  in  the  South  and  West.      He  has 
comic  force  and  waggish  drollery  with  which  he  covers  without  concealing  the 
energy  of  his  character  nor  the  strength  of  his  emotion.    This  is  essentially  an  Amer- 
ican attribute.      It  was  what  that  most  typical  of  Americans,  Abraham  Lincoln,  pos- 
sessed so  largely.      .And  the  reason  that  William  H.  Crane  is  so  popular  with  thor- 
oughly American  audiences  is  that  he  has  it,  too.     Mr.  Crane  is  without  exception 
the  most  thoroughly  .American  of  our  actors  of  the  first  rank,  and  he  shows  his  good 
;ense  in  creating  native  portraits  out  of  the  sketches  provided  for  him  by  "native  "  play- 
rights,  even  if  they  do  not  always  happen  to  be  citizens  of  the  United  States. 
Mr.  Crane  hails  from  Leicester,  Mass.,  where  he  was  born  in  1845,  but  Boston  claims 
the  honor  of  having  educated  him,  and  it  was  in  the  Hub  that  he  joined  the  Young  Camp- 
bell Minstrels  about   i860.      But  what  was  really  his  first  appearance  on  the  stage  did 
not  take  place  till   1863,   when  he  played  the  small  part  of  the  notary  in  Donizetti's 
"  Daughter  of  the  Regiment,"  at  Utica,  N.  Y.     He  had  become  a  member  of  the  Holman 
Opera  Company,  a  very  well-known  organization  in  those  days,  and  with  it  he  remained 
seven  years  on  a  very  small  salary.      After  that  engagement  he  procured  one  with  Alice 
5,  with  whom  he  remained  until  1874,  when  he  went  West  and  played  at  Hooley's,  San 
ancisco.      In   1876  we  find  him  back  in  New  York  acting  Dick  Swiveller  to  Lotta's  Mar- 
ness,  and  soon  afterward  he  made  his  first  hit  as  Le  Blanc,  the  notary  in  Rice's  "  Evan- 

We  now  come  to  a  very  important  epoch  in  ;Mr.  Crane's  life,  and  one  that  will  ever  remain 
notable  in  the  annals  of  the  .American  stage.  That  is  the  time  when  he  entered  into  partnership 
with  Stuart  Robson.  They  first  came  together  in  "Our  Boarding  House,"  at  the  Park  Thea- 
tre, New  York,  in  1877.  Both  had  been  engaged  to  play  the  same  part  and  there  nearly  came 
a  falling  out  over  it,  but  the  affair  ended  amicably  and  they  entered  into  their  famous  partnership 
As  the  two  Dromios  in  a  somewhat  perverted  "  Comedy  of  Errors  "  they  made  a  great  success. 
As  Sir  Andrew  and  Sir  Toby  they  had  been  a  success  in  "Twelfth  Night"  and  did  not  care  now  to  relapse  into  vulgar  farce.  They 
appealed  to  Bronson  Howard  to  supply  them  with  an  American  coined)-.  For  over  a  year  the  dramatic  partners  played  in  "The 
Henrietta  "  with  immense  success,  and  then  they  decided  to  dissolve  partnership.  Since  then  Mr.  Crane  has  produced  "  On  Probation," 
"Papa  Perichon."  "The  Senator,"  "For  Money,"  "The  American  Minister"  and  "  Brother  John. " 


which  lasted  for  nearly  twelve  years. 


[    ■■-.?'^(i:3i,«8R:;.; 


VIOLA    ALLEN. 

ISS  ^■IOLA  ALLEN  is  one  of  those  charming  women  who 
upsets  all  one's  theories  as  to  the  necessity  of  a  long  train- 
ing to  make  a  successful  ' '  mummer. "    She  is  one  of  those 
exceptions  who  tests  the  rule  that  an  actress,  to  be  a  success  and  a 
lasting  one,  must  start  from  the  very  beginning  of  her  profession  and 
gradually  work  her  way  up.     Twelve  years  ago,  when  her  schooling  was 
hardly  ended,  when  she  had  seen  probably  -not  more  than  half  a  dozen 
plays,   she  took   the  place   of   Annie   Russell   at  the    Madison    Square 
Theatre  in  "Esmeralda."     She  had  had  no  preparation  for  the  stage, 
unless  you  may  call  her  appearance  as  a  child  without  a  word  to  say  in 
a  play  at  Halifa.x  a  preparation,  and  yet  she  was  a  success.    True,  she 
came  of  theatrical  stock.     Her  father,  Leslie  Allen,  is  one  of  the  best 
"old  men"  on  the  American  stage  and  is  a  very  clever  character  actor. 
Her  mother,  who  is  known  to  the  dramatic  world  as  Mrs.  Brutone,  is 
a  good  actress,  but  that  ought  not,  if  our  theories  are  correct,  to  be 
sufficient  to  make  Miss  Allen  the  good  actress  she  is.     Miss  .Allen's  stage 
career  reminds  one  of  that  of  Fanny  Kemble.     She,  too,  came  of  the- 
atrical stock  and  had  had  no  dramatic  preparation  when  she  appeared 
on  the  stage  and  turned  the  heads  of  our  father?  and  grandfathers. 
Mrs.  Kemble  has  told  us  how  she  was  brought  out  in  three  weeks  from 
the  time  her  father  decided  to  make  an  actress  of  her.     "Three  weeks 
was  not  much  time  for  preparation,"  she  writes  in  that  delightful  'Record 
of  a  Girlhood,'  "of  any  sort  for  such  an  experiment,  but  I  had  no  more, 
to  become  acquainted  with  my  fellow  actors  and  actresses,  not  one  of  whom 
I  had  ever  spoken  with  or  seen — off  the  stage — before ;  to  learn  all  the  tech- 
nical busiiuss,  as  it  is  called,  of  the  stage;  how  to  carry  myself  toward  the 
audience,  which  was  not — but  was  to  be — before  me;  how  to  concert  my  move- 
ments with  the  movements  of  those  I  was  acting  with,  so  as  not  to  impede  or 
intercept  their  efforts,  while  giving  the  greatest  effect  of  which  I  was  capable  to 
my  own." 

Miss  Viola  Allen's  early  stage  e.xperiences  were  much  the  same,  and  when  she 
first  played  Esmeralda  she  was  no  better  than  was  Fanny  Kemble  as  Juliet,  who, 
as  Macready  said,  did  not  then  know  the  elements  of  her  profession.      But  both  were 
successes,  and  each  proved  by  her  later  work  that  she  deserved  to  be  a  success. 
Miss  Allen's  Esmeralda  was  very  crude.     Her  latent  creation,  Rosamond,  in  Sydney 
Grundy's  "Sowing  the  Wind,"  was  one  of  the  most  artistic  performances  of  the  sea- 
son.     Read  what  Mr.  William  Winter,  the  celebrated  dramatic  critic,  had  to  say  of  the 
performance:  "Miss  Viola  Allen  was  more  eagerly  and  earnestly  acclaimed  by  the 
audience  for  her  playing  of  Rosamond  than  for  anything  which  she  had  done  before  in 
this  city  [New  YorkJ.     This  piece,  in  fact,  afforded  her  a  distinct  and  conspicuous  per- 
a  f  sonal  triumph,  which  was  not  approached  by  any  other  person  in  the  cast.      Her  touch 

*  ;  was  true  and  fine  in  all  the  important  passages,  and  she  brought  tears  to  many  eyes  by 

her  unaffected  pathos  in  two  of  the  strong  scenes.  Her  acting  last  evening  makes  a 
notable  advance  for  her  in  her  profession,  and  between  the  acts  and  after  the  play  the 
theatre  and  the  lobbies  rang  with  her  praises." 

"  Recommendation  from  Sir  Hubert  is  praise  indeed." 

The  South  can  claim  Miss  Allen  as  its  daughter,  but  her  father  and  mother  joined  the 

Boston  Museum  stock  company  when  she  was  a  child  and  so  she  got  a  Bostonese  education. 

.•Vfter  her  success  in  "Esmeralda"  she  appeared  in  ".-Mpine  Roses."    The  late  Lawrence  Barrett 

procured  her  services  for  a  time,  and  she  left  him  to  become  leading  lady  to  the  elder  Salvini. 

In  the  summer  of    1886-7  Miss  Allen  was  playing  leading  parts  at  the  Madison  Square  Theatre. 

Since  then  she  has  played  with  Jefferson  and  Florence  in  "Aristocracy,"  in  "  Liberty  Hall,"  in  "  The 

Councillor's  Wife  "  and  in  "Gudgeons." 


#■• 


OME  years  ago  there  was  produced 
in  a  Xew  York  theatre  a  play  in  which 
Madame   Modjeska  acted  the  part  of 
the  heroine  and  ^Maurice  Barrymore  was  the  hero.      On  its  first  night 
a  reporter  on  the  A'f7i>  \'or/;  Hc-rahi  was  detailed  to  send  "notes" 
to  his  paper.      When  the  play  was  over  the  reporter  and  the  author 
of  the  play  adjourned  to  a  chop  house  and  were  discussing  old- days 
when  they  were  "cramming"  for  Indian  Civil  Service  at  Walter 
Wren's  in  London.      Maurice  Barrymore  dropped  in  and  joined 
the  party.      "What,  were  you  fellows  at  Wren's?  "he  asked. 
"So  was  I.      Don't  you  remember  Herbert  Blythe  ?  " 

Of  course  they  remembered  Herbert  Blythe,  a  sort  of  fleeting 
shadow  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  brilliant  scholar,  of 
knowing  how  to  manage  his  "dukes"  better  than  any  amatuer 
bo.xer  of  his  day  and  of  never  attending  any  class  save  when     ^ 
the  late   Prof.  Thorold   Rogers  was   talking  scandal  against 
Queen  Elizabeth.     It  was  a  strange  reunion,  this  meetmg  of 
of  Wren's   pupils,  twenty  years  or  so  after  they  had   left   Powis 
Square   and    thousands  of    miles   away   from   their  native    heath.      i!ut 
pleasant  as  it  was  strange;  for  Maurice  Barrymore  is  a  delight- 
ful companion  and  has  this  advantage  over  most  of  his  fellow 
players — he  is  educated.      He  was  at  Cambridge  before  he 
went  to  Wren's,  and  when  he  gave  up  all  idea  of  serving 
the  Kaiser  I.  Hind  ui   India  he  "ate  his  dinners"  and  be- 
came a  barrister.      But  soon  got  weary  of  Blackstone  and 
Broome  and  being  a  born  Bohemian — although  his  father 
was  a  clergvman  of  the  Established  Church — he  drifted 
on  to  the  stage.      He  came  to  this  country  and  ma ' 
his  first  appearance  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Theatre,  Ne\ 
York.     At  once  he  was  accepted  by  the  public — espe- 
cially the  female  portion  of  it — as  one  of  the  best  of 
the  \m^o\-titA  jt-iines  fircmn-rs  and  Maurice  Barrymure's 
photographs  sold  like  wildfire.     Splendidly  built  and 
very  handsome  m  face,  he  could  easily  have  stepped 
into  the  shoes  of  Harry  Montague  who,  charming  ac- 
tor that  he  was,  was  never  what  Maurice  Barrymore 
could   have   been  had    Barrymore  so  chosen.     But 
"  Barry,"  as  his  intimates  who  have  known  him  since 
he  adopted  the  stage  as  a  profession  call  hun,  "  Her- 
bie,"  as  he  is  called  by  those  who   knew  him  before, 
did  not  chose.     He  has  rarely  shown  the  public  what 
'  '  '      his  capabilities  are.     There  is  no  man  on  the  American 
stage  to-day  who  can  play  the  melodramatic  hero  better  than  he  if  he  wants  to ; 
none  his  superior  in  refined  comedy  would  he  only  give  his  mind  to  it.      When  one, 
knows  what  a  really  brilliant  man  Maurice  Barrymore  is,  how  far  ahead  he  is  in  talent  of  most  of 
the  successful  actors  on  our  boards,  one  feels  inclmed  to  kick  him  as  he  shambles  through  his  part. 
The  great  trouble,  however,  about  kicking  him  is  that,  in  prize  ring  parlance,  he  would  very  soon  send 
his  kicking  critic  "to  sleep." 

Barrymore  is  a  playwright  as  well  as  a  player.  His  "  Nadjesda,"  written  for  Madame  Modjeska,  is  a  very  powerful  plav,  but  there 
was  an  incident  in  the  plot  which  the  public,  at  the  time  it  was  produced,  could  not  digest.  So  it  failed.  The  public  stomach  has 
since  these  days  become  very  strong  and,  had  we  a  Sarah  Ikrnhardt  to  play  the  title  part,  we  imagine  "  Xadjesda  "  would  now  draw- 
crowded  houses.      He  also  wrote  the  book  of  "The  Robber  of  the  Rhine,"  which  was  utterly  unworthy  of  his  talents. 


w 


','1 


—26- 


AN  SEN. 

the  contemporary  theatre  there  stands  a  certain 
little  tigure   that,  to  my  mind,  has  seldom  been  surpassed  in 
winsomeness,   piquancy,  verve  and  a  rude   sort  of  grace ;  the 
igiire  of  a  \vholesome-lool<iinf,  mischievous-eyed  youth,  with  damask  cheek 
and  rosebud  mouth,  throui;li  whose  constant  smile  two  rows  of  tiny  teeth  peer 
out  ;  a  figure  of  plump  and  sturdy  lines  set  lightly  on  tapering  ankles  and 
poised  on  a  pair  of  French  heels.      For  outer  habiliment  it  wears  a  suit  of  pea 
green  silk  cut  in  Persian  fashion,  and  on  the  chestnut  locks,  close-cropped  but 
curlv,  perches  a  cap  rich  with  gold  in  embroidered  arabesques.      It  is  in  that  form 
and  in  that  garb  that    I    shall  always  thuik  of  Marie  Jansen:  and,  possibly,  be- 
cause of   the  charm  of   that    particular  presentment,  her  performance   in   "The 
Oolah  " — the  operetta  in  which  she  shared  stellar  honors  with  Francis  Wilson — will 
always  remain  in  my  memory  as  her  most  delightful  achievement.     Of  course,  a  sin- 
gle characterization  of  that  kind,  where  much,  if  not  all,  of  effectiveness  and  beauty 
springs  from  the  purely  personal  qualities  of  the  performer,  the  accidents  of  physique 
and  temperament,  does  not  constitute  a  passport  to  fame  or  even  to  a  really  consid- 
erable position  in  the  (jrofcssion  of  acting.      It  may  be  doubted,  indeed,  whether  any 
of  Miss  Jansen's  theatric  attainments,  up  to  the  present  moment  of  her  stage  career, 
compel  for  her  the  title  of  actress — using  the  word  in  its  e.xact  significance.      She  has 
been  for  some  years  one  of  the  most  attractive  and  pleasurable  identities  in  the  Amer- 
ican theatre — but  she  has  never  been  anything  but  Miss  Jansen  ;  a  pretty  young  wom- 
an— by  no  means  beautiful — of  a  manner  refreshingly  free  from  affectation,  and,  best 
of   all,  possessed  of   a  voice   of  particularly   fetching   intonation.      Not  so  much   a 
singing  voice  as  the  voice  of  a  t//sc'!isi;  one  peculiarly  adapted  to  the  rendition  of  such 
ballads  and  ditties  as  belong  to  the  roles  that  have  fallen  to  Miss  Jansen.      There  is  elo- 
quence, graphic  illustration  and  illumination  in  the  nuances,  the  shadows  of  Miss  Jan- 
sen's voice.      Who  that  remembers  her  singing  of  "Be  Good,  Sweet  Maid,"  fails  to 
recall  the  sweet,  almost  pathetic,  suggestion  of  words  and  tune  in  themselves  com- 
monplace and  risque.      If  I  have  dwelt  insistently  on  these  details  as  the   essential 
characteristics  of  ^liss  Jansen's  theatric  potency  it  is  because  they  constitute  the  sum 
total  of  her  worth  as  a  performer.      Attributes,  not  attainments,  are  her  agencies  or 
causes  of  charm.      Save  in  such  comparative  excellence  as  comes  from  long  famil- 
iarity with  her  calling,  she  is  not  better  to-day,  with  all  the  added  glamour  of  a 
"  star,"  than  she  was  five  years  or  more  ago,  when  she  twinkled  on  the  boards  of 
the  Casino  in  the  company  of  a  score  of  luminaries,  each  quite  as  important  pro- 
fessionally as  herself.      Indeed,  having  cut  song  and  dance  from  her  resources  of  en- 
tertainment, it  may  be  questioned  whether  she  has  not  given  over  a  material  part  of 
her  worth  of  attraction.     Nor  has  she  compensated  for  their  surrender  by  any  ad- 
vance in  the  art  of  her  calling.     In  the  neat  little  farces  especially  prepared  for  her 
advantageous  exploitation,  she  is  not  called  upon  to  attempt  heights  of  miming  far 
beyond  her  reach,  and  as  a  consequence  the  public  finds  her  quite  satisfying.      Much 
success,  I  believe,  has  followed  Miss  Jansen's  adventure  in  the  independent  circum- 
stances of  a  "star"  and  in  view  of  her  material  prosperity  she   is  justified,  perhaps,  in 
hazarding    no  uncalled-for  efforts  toward  becoming  a  veritable  artiste.      Possibly,   the 
public  might  not  like  her  if  she  did  anything  of  that  sort.     The  public  resents  any  inter- 
ference with  its  own  established  notions  regarding  the  limitations  of  a  player.      Having 
long  since  made  up  its  mind  as  to  the  character  and  quality  of  the  work  in  which  Miss 
Jansen  is  pleasing,  it  would  probably  refuse  to  consider  her  in  anything  more  ambitious  than 
the  adapted  farces  that  are  built  around  her. 


-28- 


HOPPER. 


'HETHER  any  amount  of  hard 
work  would  have  made  Mr. 
DeWolf  Hopper  such  an  art- 
ist as  was  the  late  Fred  Leslie  and  is  Francis 
Wilson,  we  would  not  venture  to  say.  But  Mr. 
Hopper,  when  he  first  appeared  as  a  member  of 
Colonel  McCauU's  comic  opera  company,  displaved 
such  decided  talent  that  he  was  hailed  with  delight 
by  the  critics  and  the  public.  .Since  then  he  appears 
to  have  made  no  progress  in  his  calling,  if  indeed 
he  has  not  fallen  off.  We  imagine  that  had  he  paid 
less  heed  to  the  fulsome  praise  of  his  friends ;  had  he 
paid  no  attention  to  the  newspaper  paragraphs  which 
were  continually  recording  his  sayings  and  doings  and  applied 
himself  seriously  to  his  art,  he  would  now  be  in  the  first  rank  in 
his  profession.  He  is  still  young,  however.  He  can  yet  rise  above 
his  surroundings  and  save  himself  from  becoming,  while  still  in  the 
prime  of  his  life,  a  "back  number."  Unfortunately,  Mr.  Hopper  and  a 
number  of  other  young  players  who  began  their  dramatic  experiences  with 
every  promise  of  success,  have  not  yet  learned  that  there  is  no  golden  road  to  it,  that 
It  is  not  in  mortals  to  command  success;  they  can  only  deserve  it,  and  that  by  hard  work. 
The  majority  of  this  class  of  mummer  study  only  the  dramatic  papers  or  the  criticisms  about 
themselves  and  their  friends  in  the  daily  journals.  For  what  the  world  beyond  the  dramatic 
stage  is  doing  they  care  not  a  snap  of  the  fingers,  and  the  whole  of  good  literature  is  to  them  a 
sealed  book.  They  belong  to  a  mutual  admiration  society,  to  which  they  admit  such  outsiders  only 
as  will  loudly  laud  their  alleged  witticisms.  And  there  are  in  every  community  plenty  of  men 
whose  ambition  it  is  to  call  a  player  by  his  Christian  name  and  consider  it  an  honor  to  be  seen 
drinking  with  him  or  slapping  him  on  the  back.  But  such  an  atmosphere  stifles  art,  and  the  actors 
who  live  in  it  generally  go  to  the  wall  sooner  or  later.  Into.xicated  by  a  first  success,  their  vanity 
overreaches  them;  they  trade  too  much  on' the  good  nature  of  the  public;  the  public  wearies  of 
them,  leaves  them  alone  and  they  join  the  ranks  of  failures.  We  do  not  say  such  a  fate  has  over- 
taken Mr.  Hopper  and  W'e  trust  it  never  may.  We  do  not  deny  his  popularity  with  lovers  of  comic 
opera  inanities.  But  we  do  warn  him  of  the  danger  in  store  for  him  if  he  insists  upon  hiding  his 
talents  under  a  bushel. 
■  Mr.  Hopper,  who  was  born  on  March  30,  185S,  is  the  son  of  a  New  York  lawyer  who  died  when  his 

only  chilci  was  si.K  years  old.      It  was  intended  that  Wolf  should  follow  his  father's  profession,  but  al- 
though he  had  no  theatrical  blood  in  his  veins  he  early  developed  a  taste  for  the  drama,  and  before  he  was 
out  of  his  teens  he  was  well  known  on  the  New  York  amateur  stage.     Mr.  Hopper  is  very  tall ;  his  legs  are 
abnormally  long  and  so  are  his  arms.     As  everyone  knows,  arms  and  legs  become  very  unruly  members 
when  their  owners  know  they  are  being  watched,  and  our  youthful  amateur  found  it  very  hard  to  accommo- 
date his  on  the  stage.     However,  he  eventually  managed  to  get  some  control  over  them  and  then  announced 
his  determination  to  desert  the  law  for  the  drama.      As  .Arthur  Middlewick  in  "Our  Boys"  he  made  his  first  public  debut,  and  so 
delighted  his  admiring  friends  that  they  formed  a  company  for  him  and  he  started  on  the  road  with  a  piece  called  "A  Hundred 
Wives."     This  proved  a  failure.      The  ambitious  young  actor,  moreover,  lost  every  penny  he  had  in  the  enterprise.      He  soon  after- 
wards got  an  engagement  at   Harrigan's  Theatre,  in  New  York,  and  then  went  to  the  Madison  Square  Theatre  to  play  the  part  of 
Pittacus  Green  in  "  Hazel  Kirke,"  which  he  did  admirably.      He  also  plaj'ed  in  "May  Blossom"  and  while  doing  so  attracted  the 
attention  of  that  excellent  artist,  .Madame  Cottrelly,  who  recommended  him  to  Colonel  McCauU.      .-Xs  a  member  of  Colonel  McCauU's 
forces  he  became  immensely  popular  and  then  joined  the  great  army  of  "stars." 

His  favor  with  the  public  seems  to  grow  with  each  season  and  each  new  characterization  that  he  contributes  to  the  stage.  .-\s 
"Wang,"  as  "  Panjandrum,"  and,  most  recently,  as  "  Dr.  Syntax,"  he  has  been  accepted  by  theatre-goers  throughout  the  country 
with  enthusiastic — and  profitable — acclaim.  He  still  remains,  however,  the  gawky,  shambling  buffoon,  utterly  wanting  in  artistic 
discretion  and  woefully  lacking  in  artistic  taste. 


%  .-4-M 


T 


Cy-~ 


J 


GEORGIA   CAYVAN. 

HERE  is  not  on  the  American  stage  to-day  any  woman  more  pop- 
ular than  Miss  Georgia  Cayvan,  leading  lady  of  the  stock  company  of  the 
Lyceum  Theatre,  New  York.     It  is  not  that  she  is  superior  either  in  personal 
appearance  or  talent  to  her  sister  artists,  but  she  possesses  a  personal  magnetism  which 
appears  to  have  given  her  that  place  in  the  hearts  of  the  American  people — and  espe- 
cially of  the  female  portion  of  it — which  was  once  oicupieu  by  Helena  Modjeska.    Whether 
it  be  in  New  York  or  San  Francisco,  Boston  or  Denver,  in  Chicago  or  St.  Louis,  Miss 
Cayvan's  name  on  the  bill  is  sure  to  draw  crowded  houses,  with  the  female  element  largely 
predominating.     And  of  course,  the  name  of  Herbert  Kelcey  must  be  on  the  same  bill,  for 
the  .American  theatre-goer  has  come  of  late  years  to  consider  the  two  as  inseparable.      A 
Lyceum  play  in  which  Miss  Cayvan  and  Mr.  Kelcey  are  not  husband  and  wife,  or  at  any 
rate  betrothed  in  the  last  act,  would  seem,  as  it  were,  untrue  to  nature.      It  may  be  that 
future  generations  will  see   them  cast  in  dramatizations  of  "Darby  and  Joan"  and  Che- 
valier's  "  Dear  Old  Dutch." 

Miss  Cayvan  has  gained  the  prominent  position  she  now  occupies  not  only  through  her 
personal  magnetism,  but  also  by  good,  honest,  hard  work.  In  an  article  she  wrote  some 
years  ago  in  a  Brooklyn  magazine  on  "  \Voman  and  the  Stage,"  she  gave  much  good 
advice  to  the  stage-struck  young  girl.  She  told  her  that  she  must  not  be  led  astray  by  the 
delightful  triumph  of  a  one-night  performance  on  an  amateur  stage,  but  must  remember 
-    ^  how  the  gilt  would  be  worn  off  the  gingerbread  by  its  repetition  night  after  night,  by  continual 

"     rehearsals  and  by  the    incessant    study  necessary  to  improve  upon  the  original.     And  as  she  has 
preached  so  has  Miss  Cayvan  practiced.     In  her  earlier  performances,  although  there  was  always  a 
marked  individuality  about  them,  her  style  was  very  hard  and  formal.      She  had  before  she  adopted  the 
V  -         stage  as  her  profession  been  a  reader  and  had  a  good  reputation  as  such  in  the  New  England  States.      It  took 
—        her  some  years  to  get  rid  of  her  somewhat  mechanical  gestures  and  a  rather  pedantic  way  of  delivering  her 
'  lines.     But  she  struggled  hard  and  triumphed  at  last.     To-day,  although  she  is  in  the  first  rank  of  dramatic  art- 
ists, she  works  almost  as  hard  as  she  did  then. 
Miss  Cayvan  comes  from  Bath,  Me.,  where  she  was  born  about  thirty-five  years  ago.      Having,  as  we  have  already  stated,  been 
originally  a  professional  reader,  she  took  to  playing  and  made  her  first  appearance  as  an  actress  in  April,  1879,  at  the  Boston  Theatre. 
Hebe  in  "Pinafore"  being  her  initial  role.      Soon  afterwards  she  got  an  engagement  at  the  .Madison  Square  Theatre,  New  York,  to 
play  the  part  of  Dolly  Dutton  in  "  Hazel  Kirke,"  which  had  just  started  on  its  long  and  successful  career.      In  18S1  she  was  promoted 
to  play  the  part  of  the  heroine  of  the  same  piece  in  a  road  company,  and  enjoyed  all  the  hardships  of  travelling  about  the  country  for 
some  months.     Then  came  those  e.xtraordinary  performances  of  "  Qldipus  Tyrannus  "  at  the  Boston  Theatre,  and  at  Booth's,  New 
York,  in  which  George  Riddle,  representing  Harvard,  played  the  King  in  Greek  and  the  rest  of  the  performers  their  parts  in  the  best 
English  they  could  muster.     Miss  Cayvan  was  cast  for  the  role  of  the  unhappy  Jocasta,  which  Mme.  Segond-Weber  recently  played 
with  Mounet-Sully  in  this  country.     She  acted  the  part  more  than  fairly,  but,  truth  to  tell,  the  performances  were  not  interesting.     Miss 
Cayvan  now  found  her  way  to  Haverly's  Fourteenth  Street  Theatre,  New  York,  where  she  played  Lisa  in  "  The  White  Slave,"  among 
other  parts,  and  was  the  original  Lura  in  this  country  in  "  The  Romany  Rj'e." 

/  About  this  time  the  unfortunate  Sara  Jewett,  who  had  for  years  been  one  of  the  most  admired  actresses  in  the  country,  left  the 
Union  Square  company  and  Miss  Cayvan  replaced  her  in  some  of  her  roles,  such  as  Marcelle  in  "The  Parisian  Romance."  It  was 
as  Marcelle  that  she  wore  her  first  liccoUctc  evening  dress,  and  it  took  the  New  England  girl  some  time  to  get  accustomed  to  such  a 
thing.  The  position  of  leading  lady  of  the  Union  Square  in  those  days  was  rather  a  thorny  one.  To  make  a  long  story  short.  Miss 
Cayvan  thinking  discretion  the  better  part  of  valor,  betook  herself  to  the  Madison  Square  and  made  a  great  hit  in  the  leading  part  of 
David  Belasco's  "  La  Belle  Russe."  The  time  she  spent  at  this  theatre,  which  was  then  the  connecting  link  between  Church  and 
Stage,  was  of  the  greatest  benefit  to  Miss  Cayvan,  for  she  had  the  late  Steele  Mackaye  to  give  her  points  in  the  Delsartian  method, 
and  David  Belasco  is  a  master  in  the  art  of  stage  education.  She  then  took  the  part  of  the  heroine  in  "  May  Blossom" — the  light- 
hearted  country  girl  who  becomes  a  wife  and  then  a  mother  laden  with  sorrow — and  after  playing  for  a  short  time  with  Dion  Bouci- 
cault  signed  with  Mr.  Daniel  Frohman  in  1S86.  Since  that  time  she  has  never  left  the  Lyceum  stock  company  which  has  given  so 
many  excellent  performances  of  first-rate  comedies  to  the  country. 


(I'n.inii  piiMh'^i.ipii  t»y  >:ir'Miy,  N<u   \..ik.) 


JOHX    DREW. 


unequalled 
will  recocni. 


OHX  DREW  did  an  eminently  wise  thing  when  he  withdrew  from 

Augustin   Daly's  company.     From  a  financial  point  of  view  it  is 

understood  he  has  bettered  himself;  from  an  artistic  point  of  view 

he  has  decidedly  made  an  improvement  since  he  became  a  "  star."     Of  course 

he  has  been  very  lucky  in  his  plays  and  his  support.      Commencing  his  career 

as  a  star  in  •'  The  .Masked  Ball,"  he  then  played  in  "  The  Butterflies  "  and  is 

now  acting  in  "The  Bauble  Shop."     Each  is  a  good  play;  each  has  been  a 

success  and  in  all  three  Mr.  Drew  has  found  a  part  admirably  suited  to  his 

talents.     But  he  is  a  far  better  actor  to-day  than  he  was  three  years  ago. 

His  love-making  was  e.xceedingly  awkward  then.      It  had  become  a  habit  with 

him  to  swing  one  arm  while  he  made  amorous  speeches  to  Miss 

Rehan  swinging  her  two.      Now  his  love-making  is  more  natural 

and  his  comedy  of  a  higher  order.     To  be  sure,  he  still  has  his 

faults,  of  some  of  which  he  will  probably  never  be  able  to  correct 

himself.     He  walks  as  badly  as  ever  and  he  continues  to  roll  his 

eyes  as  if  he  had  been  playing  understudy  to  a  codfish  in  the  last 

agonies  of  death.     But  he  is  a  fine  comedian  in  spite  of  this.     The 

story  goes   that    when    Maurice    Barrymore,    his    brother-in-law, 

wished  to  rouse  the  ire  of  the  Drew  family  he  would  call  his  small 

boy  to  say  his  prayers,  one  of  which  began,  "  Pray  God  bless  papa 

and   mamma,"   and  ended   with    "make  Uncle  John  an  actor." 

The  child's  prayer  has  been  answered. 

When  John  Drew  decided  to  sever  his  connection  with  the  Daly 
company — that  was  in  May,  1S91 — and  signed  a  five  years' con- 
tract, beginning  on  the  first  of  the  following  .May,  with  Charles 
Frohman,  there   were   many   who   prophesied    that   without    Miss 

?_,  ^^^r^i^™-'- '  -^^^m.'  Rehan  he  would  prove  a  failure.     But  the  boot  appears  to  be  on 

'(,/       JZl—^Bt^^^bffSlHBB— ■  ^^^^  other  leg.      Mr.  Daly  has  not  yet  succeeded  in  finding  a  suc- 

r-i^^^^^^^^arBK'^j^^L^i^^;  cessor  who  can  supply  the   place  of  John   Drew,  nor  has  Miss 

■~  X,      ^    ^\1'  Rehan  made  any  great  hit  since  they  parted  company. 

John  Drew's  first  appearance  in  New  York  as  a  star  was  a 
great  event  \n  the  theatrical  world.  So  closely  connected  had  he 
been  with  the  Daly  company  since  1879,  in  this  country,  in  En- 
gland and  in  France,  that  much  curiosity  was  e.xcited  as  to  how  he 
would  succeed  away  from  it.  His  performance  of  Paul  Blondel 
'n  "The  Masked  Ball "  allayed  all  fears  his  friends  might  have 
had,  and  his  Lord  Clivebrooke  in  "  The  Bauble  Shop  "  has  silenced 
all  detractors. 

"  John   Drew  served  a  long  apprenticeship   and  his  success  has 

been  due  not  only  to  inherited  talent,  but  also  to  hard  work.      He 
has  a  fine,  expressive  face  and  a  voice  of  ample  power.     He  is 
on  our  stage  to-day  in  passages  of  merry  banter  and  good-natured  cynicism.     Those  who  have  seen  Charles  Mathews 
ze  in  John  Drew  that  nimble  dexterity  which  the  English  comedian  possessed  to  so  remarkable  a  degree. 

—34— 


N 


'»•      *w 


'"-iK 


OON  after  Gounod's  death  his 
then  ahnost  forgotten  but  dain- 
ty opera  comique,  "  Philemon  and  Baucis,"  was  produced  b)-  the 
Duff  (Jpera  Company,  at  Herman's  Theatre,  New  Yorl<.  The  part  of 
Baucis,  whom  Jupiter  and  \'ulcan  rejuvenated  out  of  gratitude  for  her 
iiospitable  treatment  and  with  whom  the  King  of  the  Gods  afterwards  tried 
to  get  up  a  Hirtation,  was  cliarmingly  sung  and  gracefully  acted  by  a  Miss  D. 
Eloise  Morgan.  She  received  almost  unstinted  praise  from  the  critics,  but 
who  she  was  and  whence  she  came  none  could  tell,  although  one  did  recall 
having  seen  her  take  the  part  of  Marguerite  in  a  performance  of  "Faust" 
given  the  year  before  by  the  pupils  of  the  National  Conservatory.  When,  a  lit- 
tle later,  "  Philemon  and  Baucis  "  was  produced  at  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House, 
Sigiid  Arnoldson  essayed  the  heroine's  role.  Hut  although  the  "Danish  Night- 
ingale "  is  accepted  as  a  prima  donna  in  ICurope,  it  was  generally  acknowledged 
by  those  who  had  heard  both  singers  in  the  same  part  that  Miss  Morgan's  Bau- 
cis was  superior  to  that  of  Mme.  Arnoldson.  "  I  don't  know,"  wrote  one  well- 
known  critic  after  he  had  heard  her  in  the  part,  "  who  Miss  D.  Eloise  Morgan  is, 
but  she  was  certainly  a  surprise.  She  sang  with  the  deliberate  assurance  of  an 
Italian  opera  artist,  and  her  voice  is  magnificently  cultivated,  pure  in  tone  and  sure 
in  touch."  Miss  Morgan's  voice  is  a  light  soprano;  it  is  very  flexible  and  of  wide 
range,  and  she  possesses  a  high  note — G  in  alt — that  is  phenomenal.  Moreover  she 
is  young,  graceful  and  pretty — all  commendable  qualities  in  heroines  of  an  opera  com- 
ique, but,  alas!  too  rarely  possessed  by  them. 
Miss  Morgan,  who  hails  from  California,  played  in  "  Natural  Gas"  with  Donnelly  and 
Girard  a  few  years  ago  under  the  stage  name  of  Ollie  Archmere.  She  later  made  quite  a 
hit  as  one  of  the  three  rosebuds  in  Paul  Potter's  original  edition  of  "  The  City  Directory." 
Then  she  was  engaged  to  play  in  Hoyt's  "A  Trip  to  Chinatown  "  and  spent  some  time  in 
that  company.  But  she  had  an  ambition  that  rose  above  farce  comedy  and  joined  an 
opera  company  which  toured  through  the  country  for  two  summers,  and  with  it  gained  some  valu- 
able experience.  Four  years  ago  slie  went  abroad  to  study  singing,  and  having  been  recommended 
to  Mme.  La  Grange,  spent  some  months  in  Paris  enjoying  the  tuition  of  that  excellent  trainer  of  the  voice.  She  returned  to  this 
country,  studied  at  the  National  Conservatory  and  then  made  her  successful  appearance  as  Baucis.  When  the  Bostonians  produced 
Mr.  "Tom"  Thome's  "The  Maid  of  Plymouth,"  Miss  Morgan  took  the  part  of  Priscilla,  and  a  very  winsome  New  England  girl 
she  proved  to  be.  In  the  early  part  of  this  ( 1894)  fall  season  Gilbert  and  Sullivan's  delightful  masterpiece,  "The  Mikado."  was 
revived  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Theatre,  New  York,  and  Miss  Morgan  appeared  as  Yum  Yum. 


— ;,6- 


(From  a  «  npyri)<lil  iiliiHnyrapli  I>y  It.  J.  Kalk,  N.  V.) 


::-  OTIS 

SKINNER. 

TIS    SKINNER   is  consid- 
ered in  his  profession  to  be 
one  of  the  promising  ex- 
ponents of  the  legitimate  drama 
among  the  young  actors  on  the     ■' 
American  stage.      He   has  ambi-      '- 
tion  and  plenty  of  intelligence  wherewith 
to  carry  it  out.    He  has  a  tine  stage  presence, 
a  good  voice,  and  bred  as  he  has  been  amid  polite       t/V". 
rroundings,  he  is  able  to  bring  to  the  boards  that  re- 
linement  usually  lacking  in  actors  not  "to  the  man- 
ner born."     After  many  years  of  apprenticeship  on 
the  stage ;  after  acting  in  every  class  of  play  from 
burlesque  to  melodrama,  from  comedy  to  tragedy,  he 
as  made  his  debut  as  a  star  in  Clyde  Fitch's  "His 
Grace  de  Gramont."     I  have  not  seen  him  in  the  piece,        ■" 
but  imagine  that  Mr.  Skinner  would  give  an  excellent 
representation    of    that    brilliant,    light-hearted    young 
Frenchman,  whose  r/sgues  "  Memoires  "  have  delighted  stu- 
dents for  nigh   three  hundred  years.      Mr.  Skinner  was  born  at 
Canibndgcport,  Mass.,  on  June  28,  1857.      His  father,  the  Rev.  Charles  A.  Skin- 
ner, is  a  Universahst  minister  well  known  in 
New  England.     For  three  generations  back 
the  Skinners  had  been  clergymen,  and  Otis's 
father  wished  him  to  study  for  the  ministry; 
but  when  he  had  finished  his  education  at 
Hartford,  Conn.,  he  drifted  into  a  commis- 
sion house  in  that  city.     Skinner  had  a  soul  that 
rose  above  dry  goods  and  soon  began  spouting 
Shakespeare  instead  of  attending  to  his  cler- 
ical duties.    When  he  was  a  little  over  twenty 
he  obtained  an  engagement  at  Wood's  Mu- 
seum, l^hiladelphia,  and  there  made  his  debut 
I         in  a  small  negro  character  part  in  a  play 
called   "Woodleigh."     As    his   salary  was 
only  eight  dollars  a  week  and  as  he  was  not 
always  sure  of  being  paid  even  that  owing 
to  the  exiguity  of  the  theatre  treasury,  it  is  a 
good  deal  to  his  credit  that  he  worked  hard 
for  his  employers  and  quickly  won  his  way 
'''     to  recognition.      He  spent  a  summer  season 
at  the  Chestnut  Street  Theatre,  in  the  same 
city,  and  then  went  to  the  Walnut  Street  Thea- 
tre.    The  next  year  he  appeared  at  Niblo's,  New 
York,  and  in  the  winter  of   1879  he  spent  a  short 
season  supporting  Edwin  Booth  at  Booth's  Theatre. 
The  season  of  1880-81   found  him  at  the  Boston  Theatre,  and  for  the  following  three  seasons  he  supported  Lawrence  Barrett.     In 
1884  he  became  a  member  of  .Xugustin   Daly's  famous  company.     He  remained  with  this  organization  for  five  years;  he  then  sup- 
ported Margaret  IMather  and  Madame  Modjeska  in  succession. 


^  -TS- 


-38- 


(Friini  iiliolo,  copyright  1893  by  II.  .1.  Talk,  N.  \.) 


'"^ 


M^-< 


IT  is  not  often  that  *^   a  youns;  actress  of  twenty  finds  herself 
in  the  position  that  Miss  Mand    Adams    did  on   the  morn- 
ing  of    October   4,   1892.      The    night    before    she    had  ap- 
peared in  New  York  as  leading  lady  to  John   Drew,  in  the  part 
of  Suzanne  Blondel,  the  heroine  of  •'  The  Maslied  Ball."  and  the  next 
_g^         morning  she  awoke  to  find  herself  famous.      She  had  made  the  hit  of  the 
y^     piece.      Hers  was  no  easy  part,  for  she  had  to  feign  intoxication,  and  this  she 
did  in  an  exquisitely  comic  manner  without  being  in  the  least  offensive. 
.Miss  Adams  was  born  in  Salt  Lake  City  not  quite  twenty-two  years  ago.    At  the 
time  of  her  birth  her  mother  was  leading  woman  in  a  stock  company  at  the  Mor- 
mon capital,  and  the  child  made  her  first  appearance  on  the  stage  when  she  was 
only  nine  months  old.      It  seems  that  the  young  lady  had  become  very  cross  one 
evening  over  the  teething  process  and  refused  to  be  comforted.      The  nurse  took  the 
child  to  the  theatre  to  see  what  effect  maternal  authority  might  produce  on  her  ob- 
streperous cliarge.      Mrs.  Adams  was  playing  in  a  piece  called   "The  Lost  Child." 
The  infant  who  usually  played  the  title  role  did  not  happen  to  turn  up  that  night  and 
the  manager  was  in  desperate  straits  when  the  .Adams  Ijaby  arrived.      He  tore  it  from 
the  nurse's  arms,  popped  it  on  a  tray ;  and  in  this  fashion  did  the  charming  Jessie  Keber 
of  the  future  make  her  theatrical  debut.      She  made  her  next  appearance  with  the  late 
J.  K.  Emmet,  who  her  mother  was  then  supporting.      .Much  against  the  will  of  her 
.Mr.  Kiskadden,  who  said  he  would  "not  have  the  child  make  a  fool  of  herself,"  she 
played  for  a  short  time  with  Emmet  and  was  then  packed  off  to  school.      There  she  remained 
until  she  was  sixteen,  when  she  joined  Mr.  Daniel  Frohman's  excellent  company  at  the  Ly- 
ceum Theatre,  New  York.     When  "A  Midnight   Bell "  was  produced  at  the  Bijou  her 
manager  allowed  her  to  take  the  part  of  a  New  England  schoolgirl  in  it,  and  upon  the 
withdrawal  of  the  piece  she  joined  the  theatrical  forces  of  Mr.  Charles  Frohman.     In 
"A  Midnight  Bell"   Miss  Adams  had  made  an  excellent  impression.      That  im- 
pression was  more  than  confirmed  by  her  performance  of  an  iits^eniie  role 
.  ^  in  "  Men  and  Women,"  and  when  her  creation  of  Nell,  the  crip- 

-     ______  pled  working  girl  in  "The  Lost  Paradi.se"  was  seen,  it  was 

generally  acknowledged  that  she  was  one  of  the  most  promis- 
ing young  actresses  on  the  American  stage.    I!ut  it  was  not 
until    she    appeared    as  Suzanne  Blondel  that  it  was  uni- 
versally conceded  that  Miss  Adams  had  taken  a  position 
in  the  first  rank  of  her  profession.      Could  she  retain  it  ? 
I  think  Miss  Adams  has  shown  that  she  could  and  has 
proved  by  her  performance  in  "  The  Bauble  Shop  "  that  she  is 
quite  as  good  in  pathetic  parts  as  she  is  in  humorous.      She  can 
move  to  tears  as  well  as  rouse  laughter.      What  greater  contrast 
can  there  be  than  that  which  lies  between  the  two  characters  of 
Suzanne  lilondel  and  Jessie  Keber?     And  yet   Miss  Adams 
was  as   mirth-inspiring   in    "The   Masked    Ball"   as  she  is 
touching  in  "  The  Bauble  Shop."     It  is  very  rarely  that  in  a 
-   _  modern  play  one  comes  across  so  pretty  a  piece  of  po- 

etical prose  as  the  description  Jessie  gives  to  Mat- 
thew Keber  of  the  cottage  Lord  Clivebrooke  has 
bought  for  her  and  her  drunken  father — that 
"sweetest  little  cottage  in  the  world,"  in  whose  gar- 
den are  "curious  old  apple  trees  with  crooked, 
ke  pretty  girls  hanging  round  crabby  old  fathers'  necks  and 

It  is  rare,  too,  to 


jM^,^^ 


V- 


stunted  branches  and  roses  climbing  up  them  and  choking  them  like 

the  pink  blossoms  are  scattered  all  round — that's  the  tears  the  apple  trees  have  shed  because  they  are  so  happy 

hear  such  a  charming  sketch  so  charmingly  delivered  as  it  is  by  .Miss  Adams 


—40- 


{Krnin  :i  phntoKraph  by  Sur.my,  New  \nrk.) 


-5-<^^ 


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^^^— 


\ 


''■"~i*SS5i«^i^|iEBai'  ■  I  ^"  — 


rR 


/ 


\ 


FRANZ    EBERT. 

AXZ    EBERT,   the  leading    '^'x/' ^ 
^    •  comedian  of  "the  Liliputians."  \ 

is  the  concentrated  essence  of  humor.    He 
is  a  deliglitfully  quaint,  droll  little  fellow, 
with  a  face  that  is  comedy  in  itself.    His 
method  is  simplicity  and  quietude.     Vou 
do  not  find  him  sinking  to  burlesque ;  he  never 
descends  to  gymnastics.      He  accomplishes  all  his  ef- 
fects with  a  look,  sometimes  helped  out  with  an  into- 
nation.    He  possesses  a  marvellous  smile.    That  na- 
ture gave  him ;  but  he  gained   through  art  a  walk 
which  tells  more  than  a  ten-minute  soliloquy.     Franz 
Ebcrt,  who  was  born  in  the  Furstenwalde,  a  suburb 
of   lierlin,  about  thirty  years  ago,  is  one  of  eight 
children,  of  which  family  he  is  the  only  dwarfish 
member.      He  came  to  this  country  with  the  Lili- 
putians  in  1890  and  appeared  for  the  first  time  at 
Niblo's  (harden.  New  York,  on  September  i  5  of 
that  year.      It  was  the  intention  of  the  company 
to  play  for  si.K  months  in  the  United  States,  but 
so  great  has  been  their  success  that  they  have 
remained  here  four  years. 


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jlwsS- ..  _„«>SZ''5''**^' 


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(Fniin  n  |ili.i|..>:r.iiili  !■>   I'ai  h,  Nivv  York.) 


EMMA    EAMES. 

'HE   fairy  godmother  that  attended  the  birth  of  Madame  Emma  Eames- 
Story  was  very   bountiful  in  her  gifts  to  the  future  operatic  star.      She 
gave  her  beauty  of  no  common  order  and  endowed  her  with  a  magnifi- 
cent vocal  organ.      But  one  gift  she  forgot  to  bestow  and  that  was  dramatic  instinct. 
When  Gounod  first  heard  Miss  Emma  Thursby  sing,  he  described  her  as  a  '•beauti- 
ful icicle."     That  is  the  trouble  with  most  of  our  sopranos.     They  are  usually  so  cold. 
They  have  sweet  and  fie.xible  voices,  often  of  extraordinary  range,  but  they  lack  soul 
and  they  are  stiff  on  the  stage.      Alboni  had   a  most   ungainly  figure  and  never  at- 
tempted  to  ar/  in  opera,  because  she  couldn't ;  but  she   had  what  the  French  term 
"  tears  in  her  voice,"  and  as  she  swayed  awkwardly  to  and  fro  her  audiences  forgot 
Alboni's  physical  defects  in  the  deep  pathos  of  her  voice.      Miss  Emma  Eanies  charms 
one  with  her  rare  beauty,  with  her  glorious  voice;  but  she  does  not  touch  you.      She 
never  gives  you  the  impression  that  she  feels  the  part  she  is  playing.     She  has  been 
likened  to  Mary  Anderson — a  half-awakened  Galatea — and  it  has  been  said  of  her  "she 
sings  like  a  siren  and  looks  pale,  pure  and  remote  as  a  star."     It  may  be  she  wears  what 
\V.  D.  Howells  has  called  the  "Puritan  mask."     She  was  born  in  China,  it  is  true,  but 
she  was  bred  in  Boston,  Mass.,  and  has  New  England  blood  in  her  veins.      In  former 
days  artists  in  grand  opera  were  not  expected  to  be  able  to  act ;  but  Wagner  has  done  so 
much  to  drive  Philistinism  from  the  musical  stage  that  nowadays  we  need  dramatic  in- 
stinct as  well  as  beautiful  voices.      It  is  Calve's  acting  and  not  her  voice  that  has  made 
her  a  star  of  the  first  magnitude.      However,   Miss  Eames  does   make  a  very  beautiful 
Marguerite;  and  if  it  be  not  the  Marguerite  that  Pauline  Lucca  showed  us,  it  is  at  any 
rate  as  passionate  as  was  Christine   Nilsson's  and  infinitely  more  pleasing  than  Patti's. 
Gounod's  Juliette  is  not  a  very  powerful  dramatic  role  and  Miss  Eames  is  quite  up  to  its 
demands;  as  the  Countess  in  the  "  Nozze  de  F"igaro  "  she  is  very  charming;  but  that,  too, 
is  a  part  which  calls  for  no  great  dramatic  power.      It  is  when  .Mi.ss  Eames  attempts  such 
roles  as  Elsa  in  "  Lohengrin  "  that  one  discovers  how  much  she  lacks  the  divine  spark. 
Then  even  her  beauty  and  the  sweetness  of  her  voice  fail  to  cloak  her  shortcomings. 

Miss  Eames  sang  in  public  as  a  young  girl  in  Boston.  Her  mother,  who  was  a  fine 
amateur  singer  herself,  recognized  that  her  daughter's  voice  was  out  of  the  ordinary  and  took 
her  to  Paris  to  study  with  Madame  Marchesi.  She  was  anxious  to  make  her  first  appearance 
in  opera  at  the  Theatre  de  la  Monnaie  in  Brussels,  where  Melba  and  many  another  celebrated 
artist  have  first  been  heard.  She  might  have  appeared  there  several  times  as  an  understudy, 
but  was  persuaded  by  friends  not  to  make  her  debut  in  public  until  she  could  do  so  as 
a  prima  donna.  In  1889  she  appeared  at  the  Grand  Opera  with  great  success  as  Juliette 
and  later  with  equal  success  as  Marguerite  and  in  "Ascamo. "  Miss  Eames  was  engaged 
by  Sir  Augustus  Harris  for  the  London  operatic  season  of  1891.  While  visiting  London  she  became  the  wife  of  Mr.  Julian  Story, 
second  son  of  the  well-known  American  sculptor.  During  the  operatic  season  of  1891-2  in  New  York,  Mi.ss  Eanies  made  her  Ameri- 
can debut  as  Juliette.  The  critics  did  not  give  her  the  unstinted  praise  she  had  received  in  Paris.  When  she  reappeared  in  this 
country  two  years  later  she  had  made  great  strides  in  her  profession  and  is  now  accepted  in  the  L'nited  States  as  well  as  in  Europe  as 
one  of  the  great  singers  of  grand  opera. 


v;4 


) 


-44- 


iFrum  u  copyhKlH  |>lioto}|:ra|ih  by  I!,  j.  I  .tik,  N.  \  .) 


)  Ji*^^.  ,i^ 


RESZKE. 

HK  Ue  Reszkes  are  the  most  celebrated  family  of  singers  of  mod- 
ern times.      Indeed,  we  do  not  recall  any  family  that  has  pro- 
duced so  many  illustrious  musical  members  since  the  opera  was 
recognized  as  an  established  form  of  art.     The  De  Reszkes  are  from 
Warsaw.     Their  mother  was  a  distinguished  amateur  and  to  her  early 
teachings  they  owe  their  fame.     The  eldest  of  the  family  is  Jean,  the 
subject  of  this  sketch.     Besides  him  there  is  Edouard,  the  basso:  Jo- 
sephine, who  had  considerable  success  as  a  soprano  in  most  of  the 
capitals  of  Europe,  but  retired  from  the  stage  on  her  marriage,  and  another 
brother,  the  youngest  of  the  De  Reszkes,  who  is  reported  to  have  a  mag- 
nificent tenor  voice. 

Jean  de  Reszke  was  born  at  \Varsaw  on  January  14,  1852,  and  when  a  boy  of  twelve 
was  delighting  the  good  people  of  that  city  by  the  charming  way  in  which  he  sang 
solos  in  the  cathedral.  He  took  lessons  from  Ciaffei  and  then  went  to  Turin  to  study 
under  Cotogni,  who  took  him  to  London  to  hear  Mario,  the  greatest  operatic  tenor  of  his 
generation,  if  not  of  all  times.  Mario  was  sixty  years  old  at  the  time  and  was  bidding 
farewell  to  the  public.  He  was  still  a  consummate  artist  and  to  have  heard  him  even  in 
his  old  age,  to  have  seen  him  act,  was  a  lesson  in  itself  to  any  singer.  He  made  his 
last  appearance  on  the  London  stage  amid  intense  enthusiasm  as  Alfonso  in  the  "  Favor- 
ita,"  and  it  was  this  part  that  Jean  de  Reszke — under  the  name  of  De  Reschi — selected  for 
his  debut  at  Venice  in  January,  1874.  It  was  a  very  successful  "first  appearance,"  and  a 
few  months  later  he  was  introduced  to  a  London  public  in  the  same  part.  He  was  then 
taking  baritone  parts,  but  the  London  critics,  who  spoke  of  his  future  expectations  in 
the  highest  terms,  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  his  voice  was  more  a  low  tenor  than 
baritone.  After  having  sung  with  some  success  at  the  Italiens  in  Paris,  he  made  his 
tenor  debut  as  Robert,  at  Madrid,  in  1879,  having  meanwhile  studied  under  Professor 
Sbriglia,  who  recognized  that  De  Reszke's  former  singing  masters  had  placed  his  voice 
wrongly.  Madrid  went  wild  over  the  new  tenor  who,  though  not  as  good  an  actor  as 
he  is  to-day,  had  much  improved  since  he  first  appeared  at  Turin,  when  he  was  exceedingly 
awkward.  In  1S84  he  played  in  Paris  the  part  of  John  the  Baptist  in  "  Herodiade,"  his 
^  brother  Edouard  acting  the  role  of  Simmone  Boccanegra.  Alassenet  was  so  delighted 
with  Jean's  performance  that  he  procured  for  the  tenor  an  engagement  at  the  Opera  House 
to  create  the  part  of  Le  Cid.  It  was  produced  in  November,  1885.  From  that  production 
dates  the  world-wide  fame  of  Jean  de  Reszke.  He  was  now  acknowledged  to  be  the  best  stage  tenor 
that  had  appeared  since  the  days  of  Mario,  and  created  a  great  furore  when  he  appeared  as  Faust, 
Edouard  playing  Mephistopheles  and  Madame  Patti  .Marguerite,  on  the  live  hundredth  performance  of 
"Faust  '  in  November,  1887.  In  the  summer  of  the  same  year  he  had  reappeared  in  London  and 
played  Lohengrin,  Faust  and  Raoul  and  again  met  with  unbounded  success.  On  December  14,  1891,  he  made  his  first  appearance 
in  New  York  at  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House  in  Gounod's  "Romeo  et  Juliette."  His  brother  was  Friar  Laurence  and  Miss  Eames 
played  Juliet,  but  it  was  Edouard  who  made  the  hit  of  the  evening.  The  following  Christmas  night  Jean  appeared  as  Faust,  Miss 
Eames  playing  Marguerite,  and  a  most  delightful  Faust  he  proved  to  be.  His  first  season  in  this  country  made  him  a  favorite,  but 
when  he  appeared  again  in  the  season  of  1893-94  his  good  work  and  the  marked  improvement  in  his  style  raised  him  into  the  position 
of  an  idol  of  the  opera-going  public. 


-46- 


|Kn>m  a  photoKrnpli  liy  Nudar,  TuriK.) 


^ 


e3# 


JULIA  ARTHUR. 


^c^^'i::;^ 


IN  circumstances  conducive 
to  the   full   development 
of  her  natural  gifts.  Miss  Arthur 
would  become  one  of  the  great- 
est actresses  of  this  genera- 
tion— the  peer,   I  am  almost 
persuaded,  of  Madame  Bern- 
hardt   and     Signora     Duse. 
Under  the  conditions,  though, 
that   have    hitherto    attended 
the  most  notable  period  of  her 
stage  career,  and  in  the   pe- 
-  '  culiar  paltriness  and  mate 

rialism    that    dominate    the 
theatre   here   and   now,   it  is 
possible    that    her    fine    talents 
will    dissipate   in    inconsiderable 
achievements.     How  potent  for  ar- 
tistic demoralization  are  these   malefic  forces  is  evident   from 
what  they  have  wrought  in  the  case  of  Miss  Arthur.      In  innate 
aptitude   for  superb   accomplishments,   as  well  as  in   the  outer 
essentials  of  theatric  effectiveness,  she  is  endowed  no  less  richly 
than  any  actress  of  her  time,  excepting  not  even  the  most  splen- 
did light  of  the  French  and  of  the  Italian  stage.     Temperament — and  with  that  an  actress 
may  go  far ! — she  has  to  a  degree  that  it  pervades  her  entire  manner  and  presence  with  a 
sombre  yet  sympathetic  magnetism.      .\  seeming  soulfulness — by  no  means  hovering  merely 
on  the  sweeping  lashes  of  a  pair  of  midnight  eyes — shines  out  in  every  feigned  emotion  to 
which  she  gives  e.xpression.     With  that  quality  alone  there  is  little  in  the  range  of  the  ro- 
mantic and  heroic  drama  that  a  woman  may  not  venture  to  attempt.      When  added  to  that 
are  certain  physical  excellencies  such  as  Miss  Arthur  possesses,  one  is  justified  in  the  positive 
assertion  with  which  these  comments  begin.     Her  face  is  as  lacking  in  prettiness  as  is  Bern- 
hardt's  or  Duse's,  and  it  is  likewise  as  impressively  beautiful  as  cither's.      A  voice  richer 
in  music  and  meaning  is  heard  nowhere.     If  it  be  true  that  there  is  color  in  tone,  then 
one  may  look  for  gorgeous  hues  in  that  voice — for  cardinal  and  scarlet  and  purple,  the 
hues,  surelv,  of  romance  and  heroics.      The  qualities  and  qualifications  of  Aliss  Arthur 
are  all  the  more  interesting  in  their  identity  with  those  of  the  greatest  artistes,  because 
of  their  unexpectedness.      Temperament  such  as  hers,  a  personality  not  only  suggest- 
ing but  expressing  the  quality  of  tragedy,  eyes  such  as  hers,  and  beauty  and  voice  like 
hers,  we   associate   somehow    with   meridional  countries,  with    southern   France  and 
Spain  and  Italy.     To  find  them  born  under  the  chill,  gray  skies  of  a  Canadian  town 
surprises  us,  and  possibly  makes  us  timid  to  recognize  them  for  their  full  significance 
and  worth.      But  they  are   all  there  in  the  young  woman  whom  we  think  of  only  as  a 
capable  ■'  leading  lady,"  and  1,  for  my  part,  make  bold  to  write  of  them  as  enthusiastic- 
ally as  if  they  had  come  from  lands  of  story  and  sunshine.     Of  Miss  Arthur's  gifts  one 
should  write  the  more  unreservedly,  because  of  the  fact  that  they  have  been  put  to 
such  poor  account  and  because  the  condemnable  spirit  that  pervades  the  American 
theatres  threatens  eventually  to  put  them  to  nothingness.      It  was  amazing  to  see  in 
her  most  recent  performance,  in  a  play  called  "Sister  Mary, "  the  same  faults  that 
marred  her  work  in  the  days  of  her  metropolitan  apprenticeship.      It  tried  one's 
patience  to  find  the  same  general  crudeness  of  method,  the  same  bungling  em- 
ployment of  that  magnificent  voice,  the  same  disregard  of  the  value  of  detail. 
The  voice  was  persistently  monotone,  the  whole  impersonation  monochrome, 
with  apparently  a  studied  avoidance  of  light  and  shade.      (Ine  was  tempted  to 
ask  if,  after  all,  there  was  anything  there  but  temperament,  resonant  voice,  and 
great  black  eyes;    and  if  laudatory  insistence  on  these  virtues  had  brought  her 
to  rely   solely  on  them  for  her  effects  ?     That  has   happened  to  many  of  our 
actors.      It  will  not  answer  to  attribute  the  stubborn  blurs  and  blunders  of  Miss 
Arthur's  performances  to  want  of  intelligence  or  taste ;  the  reading  of  her  lines 
and  the  spirit  of  her  conception  of  character  indicate  the  possession  of  both  in 
an  adequate  degree.      Where,  then,  is  one  to  look  for  the  source  of  her  artistic 
failings  if  not  in  the  conditions  and  circumstances  of  her  professional  endeavors .' 
She  is  a  distinguished  victim  of  the  regrettable  system  pursued  in  the  conduct 
of  the  theatre  of  to-day :  the  system  of  incompetent  instruction  or  no  instruction 
at  all,  of  long  runs  and  prolonged  provincial  tours,  and  of  regard  merely  for  the 
criticism  of  the  box  office.      We  boast  in  the  metropolis  of  the  number  of  our 
stock  companies.      As  a  matter  of   fact,  we  have   several  theatres  employing 
regularly  a  number   of  experienced  actors  indispensable   to   the  production  of 
plays.      The  manager,  assisted  by  London  precedence,  experiments  until  he  has 
found  a  play  that  will  run  for  a  year  or  two,  and  after  its  metropolitan  popularity 
is  exhausted,  the  play,  with  the  so-called  stuck  company,  is  sent  into  the  provinces.      If  it  catches  the  fancy  of  the  provincials 
it  sojourns  among  them  for  a  year  or  two — and  that's  the  end  of  the  stock  company !     Something  of  this  very  sort  happened,  I 
believe,  to  Miss  .Arthur.     She  was  a  member  of  Mr.  A.  M.  Palmer's  stock  company  that  produced  '•  Lady  Windermere's  Fan." 
It  was  a  charming  play  and  pleased  the  town  and  country — the  latter  so  much  that  the  company  remained  away  from   New 
York  many  months.      In  the  ineantime  i\lr.  Palmer  discovered  the  drawing  power  of  six-daily-hints-from-Paris,  a  female  im- 
personator, and  the  living  pictures.     .And  that's  the  end  of  ///s  stock  company  I     These  are  not  conditions  conducive  to  the  full 
development  of  artistic  possibilities.     Still  Miss  Arthur  has  temperament — and  a  woman  may  go  far  with  that. 


—4— 


(From  a  phntournph  by  Tlmm,  Snn  Francisco,  Cal.) 


Boston  Museum,  was  watching  Joseph  Jeffer- 
son's  performance  of  Bob  Acres  with  an  ex- 
pression of   intense  amusement.      "  Remarkable  piece  of  work,  isn't   it  ? " 
someone   observed  to  Warren.      "Yes,  indeed,"  he  returned,   "a  bnUiant 
and  fascinating  impersonation — '  and  Sheridan  twenty  miles  away  ' !  "     So  it 
is  with   Mr.   Robson's    Dromio.      The    skill   and    imagination  and   person.nl 
idiosyncrasies  of  the   player  have  added  so  much  to  the  suggestion  of  the 
playwright,  that   the   Dromio  whom  he  presents  to  us  is   a   fellow  at  once  more 
fantastic  and  realistic  than  the   Dromio  of  Shakespeare.      Doubtless  it  is  some- 
tliing  in  the  nature  of  leze  majesty  to  assert  such  things  in  connection  with  the 
sovereign  of   dramatists;  but   it  so  frequently  happens  in  the  case  of  Shake- 
speare— that  actors  get  more  out  of  his  creations  than  he  himself  put  in  them. 
Malvolio,  for  instance,  is  an  inhnitely  simpler  character  than  some  great  actors 
have  represented  him :   merely  a  fellow  of  mild  conceit  who  makes  the  blunder 
of  fancying   that    his    mistress  is   in   lo«6   with   him.     And    yet    learning  and 
philosophy  have  so  exaggerated  the  significance  of  the  character,  that  the  actor 
who  would  meet  the  popular  expectation  must  endow  Malvolio  with  a  hundred 
qualities   that   Shakespeare   never  dreamt  of  giving  him.      .And  in  the  case  of 
Hamlet — think   of  the   inhnity  of   investigation   and   ingenuity  that  has  occupied 
itself  with  the  task  of  solving  a  problem   that  probably  never  existed  in  Shake- 
speare's  mind.      .About  a  very  unfortunate  young  man  who  comes  home  to  dis- 
cover a   most   shameful   state  of  affairs   in  his  household,  and  who  in  his  woe  and 
perplexity  acts  pretty  much  as  any  other  youth  would  do  m  the  same  circumstances, 
there  has  been  cast  a  halo  of  mysticism  that,  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  has  led   many 
great   actors   far   afield   from   the   truth   as   it  existed   in   Shakespeare's   mind.      If 
i\Ir.  Robson  has  done  something  of  the  same  sort  in  the  case  of   Dromio  of  Svra- 
cu-;e,  he   has   achieved    it   largely  by  reason  of  certain  personal   peculiarities.     Mr, 
M.;ltzer,  a  critic  of  authority  and,  generally,  of  correct  taste,  recently  described  Mr. 
Robson  as  a  comedian  with  a  squeak,  implying  that  this  vocal  idiosyncrasy  was  the 
h  I      a.'tor's  chief   equipment   for  his   calling.     Now,  whatever  mav  be  the  objection  of 

<&»    1/  \      that  squeak  in  other  impersonations,  it  is  certainly  a  most  effective  detail  in  Dromio. 

To  that  role  it  adds  an  appropriate  and  distinctive  feature,  that  may  be  as  far  away 
from  .Shakespeare  as  Jefferson's  peculiarities  are  distant  from  Sheridan:  but  it  is 
none  the  less  a  delightful  and  valuable  detail  of  significant  illustration  and  illumina- 
tiin.  No  Shakespearean  impersonation  of  these  days  is  more  vividly  impressed  on 
t  le  popular  mind  than  this  Dromio  of  liobson's.  To  a  marvellous  degree  the  actor 
lias  caught  not  so  much  the  spirit  of  the  English  clown  of  the  sixteenth  century — 
vvhich  is  the  Dromio  of  Shakespeare — but  of  the  slave  of  classic  times,  which  is 
I  he  slave  of  Plautus  and  of  actuality.  Robson's  Dromio  holds  his  quips  and 
quirks  constantly  in  leash — as  befits  a  slave.  He  is  really  a  knowing  fellow — as 
ilie  servitor  of  a  man  of  the  world  like  his  master  Antipholus  should  be — and  it  is 
because  of  this  evident  knowingness  that  his  patience  in  the  midst  of  maddening 
coiifusion  and  undeserved  reproaches  give  a  touch  of  genuine  pathos  to  his  comedy. 

\i.^- ^  '  do  not  believe  that  Shakespeare  ever  intended  Dromio  of  Syracuse  to  be  anything 

l)ut  a  clownish,   fat-witted  dolt,  contributing   the  chief  share  to  the  broadly  farcical 
clement   in    "The   Comedy  of  Errors."     And   for   the   fine  vein  of  sympathy  that 
Mr.  Robson  puts  into  the  character,  for  that  perfection  of  comedy  that  takes  on  the 
U   f  nature  of  real  pathos,  and  for  some  splendidly  illuminative  detail  of  mannerism — among  them  the  squeak 
slighted  by  Mr.  Meltzer — the  dramatist  is  under  obligations  to  the  actor 


(Krom  a  pliotngraph  by  Snrnny,  New  York.) 


MELL  GWYNNE  lives  again  in  the 

person  of  Marie  Tempest.     P'roni 

out  of  a  past  tinkling    with  tuneful    poesy, 

sparkling  with  the  glory  of  palettes  that  limned  only 

beauty  and  grace,  bubbling  with  the  merriment  and 

gallantry  of  gay  King   Charlie's  court,  there  trips  down 

to  moderns  a  most   convincing  counterfeit  of  that  piquant  "      ^ 

creature.     If  one  may  tru.st  imagination's  ear,  little  Tempest 

sings  just  as  pretty  Nell  did  :  in  the  same  tenuous,  uncertain  voice,  with  the  same  captiva- 
ting tricks  of  tone,  the  same  significant  nuances,  and  the  same  amorous  timbre. 
Tempest  talks  just  as  Xell  did,  and  walks  with  the  same  sturdy  stride — there  was 
nothing  niMicing  about  Xell — and.  if  one  may  trust  to  fancy's  eye,  she  looks  just 
as  Nell  looked.  I've  seen  Nell  a  hundred  times,  and  so  have  you,  dear  reader. 
The  mere  sight  of  that  curt,  pert,  and  jadish  name — Nell  Gwynne — calls  up  that 
strangely  alluring  combination  of  features :  the  tip-tilted  nose,  the  pouting  lips, 
the  eyes  of  a  drowsy  Cupid,  the  confident,  impudent  poise  of  the  head.  None 
of  them  fashioned  to  the  taste  of  painter  or  sculptor,  but  forming  in  their  unity  a 
face  of  teasing  witchery.  There  is  no  record  of  Nell's  artistic  methods,  of  the 
school  of  her  mmietic  performance,  or  of  the  style  of  her  singing.  All  we  know 
of  that  sort  of  thing  we  must  gather  from  the  rhymes  and  rhapsodies  of  the  poets. 
Some  of  them  wrote  in  prose,  to  be  sure ;  but  they  were  poets  for  all  that,  and  poets 
are  such  an  unreliable  lot  when  it  comes  to  judging  such  a  girl  as  Nell.  If  she 
had  any  art,  though,  I'll  be  bound  it  was  like  Tempest's.  There  is  but  one  way  to 
';  be  infinitely  charming  in  the  craft  of  the  theatre — the  eternal  verities  of  art  prevent 
that  it  should  be  otherwise — and  whatever  devices  of  mimic  mechanism  Nell  em- 
ployed must  have  been  those  of  her  modern  congener.  But  s/ie  never  studied  in 
Paris,  some  skeptic  will  say,  and  Tempest  did ;  how  could  Nell  Gywnne  have 
mastered  the  lightness  of  touch,  the  exquisite  refinement  of  gesture,  the  infinity 
of  significant  byplay  that  constitute  the  distinctly  Parisian  method  of  Tempest? 
To  that  I  would  answer  that  Tempest's  method  is  not  distinctly  Parisian,  that  it  is 
not  at  all  Parisian.  She  is  a  delightful  artiste  not  because  of  her  brief  period  of 
Gallic  training,  but  in  spite  of  it.  Elsewhere  in  this  volume  I  have  ventured  an 
opinion  on  the  subject  of  what  we  have  been  taught  to  regard  as  the  French  school 
of  comic  opera.  That  school,  if  we  may  judge  of  its  academic  principles  and 
practices  by  the  performance  of  some  of  its  most  proficient  graduates,  has  nothing 
common  with  the  methods  of  Tempest.  Wanton  wiles  and  indecent  suggestion — 
these  are  the  essential  features  of  that  ridiculously  lauded  French  school ;  kicks  and  winks  and  ogling  glances,  postures  of  affected 
languor,  and  convincing  feints  of  vicious  sophistication.  Where,  in  all  that,  is  to  be  found  the  simple  graciousness,  the 
dainty,  delicate,  unobtrusive  art  of  Marie  Tempest  ?  To  liken  her  to  the  garish  product  of  that  French  school — as  well  liken 
Corot's  sensuous  nymph  of  the  wood  to  Bougereau's  sensual  nymph  of  the  bath  I  For  my  own  part.  I  don't  believe  Tempest 
belongs  to  any  school,  or  if  she  does,  it  is  a  school  of  which  she  is  at  once  mistress  and  sole  pupil.  Indeed,  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  instruction  or  training  has  any  considerable  part  in  the  charm  of  such  a  player.  There  are  women  of  infinitely  better 
method — not  manner — of  singing  and  of  acting;  women  with  whom  Nature  has  dealt  far  more  carefully  and  generously  in  beauty 
of  face  and  of  figure;  women  even  in  no  degree  inferior  to  Tempest  in  innate  allurement.  But  this  little  Englishwoman,  with 
her  s7vUt:  form  and  her  bewitching  face  of  ugly  features,  her  tricky  voice  that  always  makes  one  think  of  a  thrush  that  has 
caught  a  cold,  her  impertinences  and  patronizing  ways  with  her  audience,  has  about  her  a  vague,  elusive  something  that 
makes  of  her  the  most  fetching  personality  of  the  comic  opera  stage. 


-  8- 


(From  a  copyright  photograph  by  Sarony,  New  \ork 


"*-•*  -^ i?s. 


kV 


N.  C.   GOODWIN. 

COMEWHERE  I  have  met  with  a  play  that  was  written  by  Moliere— a  play  in  which  the  principal  character 
was  Monsieur  Molici^f,  and  in  which  that  character  of  Monsieur  Moliere  was  unpersonated  by  Moliere. 
At  this  moment   I   cannot  recall  the  great  dramatist's  particular  purpose  in  such  an  egoistic  enterprise,  but  I 
remember  that  when  I  chanced  upon  the  musty  little  brochure,  the  thought  occurred  to  me  that  if  Mr.  N.  C. 
Goodwin  were  a  dramatist  he  would  do  that  very  sort  of  thing.      He  might  not  go  to  the  extreme  to  which 
Moliere  ventured  and  call  the  hero  of  the  play  by  his  own  name ;  but  that  hero  would  be  Mr.  N.  C.  Goodwin 
in  all  the  essential  details  of  character,  or  outward  expression  of  character,  in  manner  and  in  mannerism.     Moliere's 
feat  was  less  audacious  and  immodest  than  it  might  seem  at  first  glance.     He  was  immenselv  popular  with  the 
playgoers  of  his  day — not  only  as  a  dramatic  author,  but  as  an  actor.      By  part  of  the  same  token,  Mr.  Goodwin 
would  be  justified  if  he  were  to  imitate  the  deed  of  the  famous  Frenchman.      He  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  popu- 
lar actors  of  the  day.  one  of  the  most  enthusiastically  applauded  by  the  general,  and.  conserjuently.  one  of  the  most 
prosperous  in  the  monetary  sense  of  the  word.      I  state  those  facts  in  the  superlative  way  in  order  that  any  sub- 
sequent remarks   I   may  choose  to  make  of  Mr.  Goodwin  and  his  work  may  not  be  misconstrued  as  to  their 
purpose  and  intention.     Let  it  be  granted,  too,  that  Mr.  Goodwin  has  personality  and.  also,  individuality.     These 
are  the  qualities  on  which  his  admirers  most  strenuously  insist.      The  especial  and  distinctive  virtue  of  these 
attributes  in  connection  with  thespian  achievements  has  never  been  quite  clear  in  my  mind.      They  are  by  no 
means  rare  or  utterly  distinctive  virtues.     It  will  occur  to  anyone  who  gives  the  matter  the  least  consideration 
that  every  person  has  personality,  just  as  most  individuals  have  individuality.     What  is  meant,  doubtless,  by  those 
who  prate  of  the  particular  personality  in  reference,  is  that  it  is  pleasing  to  a  large  number  of  playgoers.     And 
in  view  of  .Mr.  Goodwin's  prosperity,  there  may  be  no  gainsaying  that  fact.      But  that  it  constitutes  the 
alpha  and  omega  of  merit  1    beg  leave  to  doubt.      Mr.   Goodwin,   however,   is  apparently  of  another 
opinion.     He  believes  himself  completely  winning  and,  naturally,   he  refrains  from  eliminating 
any  detail,  be  it  never  so  trivial,  from  the  effective  entirety.      No  matter  how  obvious  and  inevi- 
table may  be  the  characteristics  and  idiosyncracies  of  the  impersonation  in  hand,  he  declines  to 
attempt  any  complete  differentiation  from  his  own.      In  this  he  is  much  like  that 
Mr.  \Villard  who  toui  ;d   this  country  recently.      Possibly,  the  exigencies  of  a  star 
career  compel  this  sort  of  thing — this  persistent  preservation  of  features  and  man- 
nerisms   that    have    proved    themselves    of    "drawing"    potency.      For    instance, 
Mr.  Goodwin  must  have  known,  when  he  prepared  himself  for  the  star  role  of 
•'In   Mizzoura,"  that  no  Missouri  .Sheriff  ever  went  with  clean-shaved  face.      The 
bandit-like  mustache  of  the  Western  constabulary  is  a  classic   detail  not  only  in 
fiction,  but  in  fact — just  as  much  as  the  pointed  beard  is  a  hall-mark  of  a  \'an- 
dyke.     The    instance  cited   is,   perhaps,    trivial,   and    I   should   have  hesitated   to 
employ  it  were  it  not  that  it  so  vividly  illustrates  my  meaning.     And,  indeed,  it  is 
all  the  more  pertinent  and  permissible  because  of  its  triviality.      Certain  ingrained 
liabits  and  manners   an  actor,  be   he  never  so  conscientious  and  well  intentioned, 
may  not    be  able   to  rid  himself   of.      But   that  he  should   wittingly  refuse  such 
adscititious  aids  to  illusion  as  are  ])rovided  by  the  rudest  mechanism  of  his  craft — 
that  is  certainly  open  to  blame.     And  that  he  should  studiously  project  into  his 
mimetic  essavs    individual    and    purely  personal    qualities — qualities  of    which  he 
has  acquired  an  exaggerated  esteem,  through  the  flattery  of  friends  and  the 
eulogy  of  indiscriminating  criticism — that   I   hold    to  be  honestly  condeni- 
nable.      From  .Mr.  Goodwin's  popularity  with  the  general  body  of  theatre- 
goers it  would  be  unfair  and  futile  to  seek  to  detract  an  iota.      But  that  he 
is  an  actor  capable  of  merging  his  individuality  into  that  of  the  character 
he  would  portray;  that  he  possesses  that  mystic  gift  of  illusion  that  consti- 
tutes the  very  essence  of  the  dramatic  art ;   that  he  is,  in  short,  an  actor  in 
the  sense  that  Mr.  Mansfield  is  an  actor,  or  Mr.  E.  J.  Henley,  or  Mr.  W.  H. 
Thompson — that,  I  submit,  is   a  matter  of  which   much  may   be  said   on  both  sides. 


dr.. in  ..  |,l...i...;..M.Ii  l.y  >..i..iiv,  N.  »  N..rk.) 


'FHE  mantle  of  no  past  mistress  of  the  scenic  art  has  fallen  upon  the  shoul- 
ders of   Eleonora   Duse.      For  her  the  Muses  have   fashioned  a  virgin 
vestment,  of  texture  more  delicate,  of  grace  more  exquisite,  in  fancy  richer 
than  any  that  ever  yet  adorned  a  woman  of  the  stage.      While  Bernhardt 
but  renews  the  traditions  of  Rachel — adding,  perhaps,  a  refinement  of 
method,  and  illuminating  them  with  an  intelligence  more  subtle,  a 
temperament  more  sensitive  than  those  of  her  predecessors — Eleo- 
"^  nora  Duse  discovers  to  us  that  rarest  quality  of  genius,  the  gen- 

ius of  surprise.  Some,  dreading  the  conviction  of  their  idol's  sub- 
ordination, would  deceive  themselves  and  us  that  this  new  deity  is  of  another 
cult :  they  seek  consolation  in  the  pretension  that  Bernhardt  and  Duse  are  of 
J  different  schools,  and  that  whatever  superiority  contemporary  criticism  may 
adjudge  the  Italian  springs  rather  from  the  method  of  art,  of  which  slu-  is 
the  exponent,  than  from  any  finer  quality  in  the  artiste  herself.  The  subter- 
fuge is  pathetic,  but  paltry.  It  is  an  oft-used  shift  of  inferiority  to  evade  the  proof 
and  penalty  of  surpassed  excellence.  One  may  question,  indeed,  whether,  in  the  nice 
discrimination  of  the  day  in  all  that  pertains  to  theatric  art,  there  could  exist  schemes  and  systems  of  dramatic  impersonation 
distinctly  varied,  and  yet  deserving  of  equal  regard.  Granting  even  the  possibility  of  this  indecisive  criticism,  the  truth  remains 
that  the  twain  of  comediennes  in  reference  tread  in  identically  the  same  path  of  mimetic  method :  they  both  strive,  along  the 
same  course,  for  the  same  goal.  But  the  race  has  gone  to  the  Italian;  she  outstrips  her  Gallic  rival  with  such  facility  and 
felicity  that  amazement  invents  fanciful  conditions  to  account  for  the  startling  defeat.  We  had  not  supposed  that  ingenuity  of 
intelligence  or  faculty  of  dramatic  invention  could  go  beyond  the  "  business  "  with  which  Bernhardt  indicated  the  phthisical 
ailment  of  CamiUe.  To  touch  the  lips,  in  constant  question,  with  a  limp  kerchief,  positively  took  on  the  dignity  of  a  classic  in 
the  traditions  of  the  stage.  The  hectic  Hush  of  Clara  Morris,  the  hacking  cough  of  Modjeska,  at  once  discovered  their  mean- 
ness in  the  presence  of  the  cambric  contrivance  of  the  French  actress.  With  that  square  of  flaxen  fabric,  Bernhardt  was 
deemed  to  have  floated  into  the  empyrean  of  histrionic  perfection,  and,  henceforth,  every  Camille  was  measured  by  the  com- 
parative skill  with  which  she  employed  the  pregnant  handkerchief.  Her  rank  in  the  dominant  school  of  realism  was  determined 
very  largely  by  the  degree  of  frequency  and  alarm  with  which  she  touched  the  linen  to  her  ashen  lips.  Because  the  Italian 
actress,  with  an  artistic  sense  vastly  beyond  that  of  the  Frenchwoman,  with  a  cunning  infinitely  finer,  with  an  elaboration  of 
method  grander,  a  faculty  of  expression  endlessly  more  varied  than  Bernhardt's,  contrives  to  token  the  wasting  ailment  of 
Camille  without  resort  to  the  vulgar  mechanism  in  allusion,  we  are  told,  with  something  of  an  air,  that  she  is  of  another  school! 
With  every  fresh  example  of  Duse's  capabilities  and  manner,  it  becomes  more  evident  that  the  reason  of  the  amazing  difference 
in  the  performance  of  the  two  women  r.ust  be  sought  elsewhere  than  in  any  fancied  variance  in  their  schemes  and  modes  of 
dramatic  portrayal;  it  lies  in  the  artistes  themselves.  Temper,  not  training;  mind,  not  method;  soul,  not  system,  have  pre- 
vailed to  advance  the  Italian  to  heights  not  dreamed  of  in  the  art  philosophy  of  the  other.  Bernhardt  did,  indeed,  attain  the 
approximate  perfection  po.ssible  to  any  talent  not  born  of  mere  inspiration.  In  anger,  she  was  the  hissing  serpent  whose  glance 
is  stunning  and  whose  touch  is  death.  In  hate,  she  was  the  snarling  tigress;  the  incarnation  of  rampant  ferocity.  In  love — 
the  love  of  which  she  could  know — Bernhardt  brought  into  play  the  tireless  lust,  the  seductive  languor,  the  entrancing  enervation 
of  her  Oriental  blood,  and  added  thereto  all  the  wiles  and  witchcraft  of  the  practiced  courtesan.  In  the  d  splay  of  the  deeper 
emotions,  the  stronger  passions,  Duse  surpasses  the  Parisian  no  less  utterly  than  in  the  expression  of  the  softer,  sweeter  senti- 
ments of  humanity.  In  Bernhardt's  wrathful  anger  there  is  always  the  suggestion  of  the  termagant;  Duse  seems  the  enraged 
Juno.  Bernhardt's  jealousy  always  hints  of  the  slighted  wanton :  Duse's  of  offended  womanhood.  Bernhardt  piqued  is  a 
snappish  shrew;  Duse  a  proud  spirit  tortured.  Bernhardt  counterfeits  grief  admirably;  Duse  is  grief  itself.  And  yet,  I  repeat, 
the  methods  employed  by  the  two  actresses  are  identical  in  kind:  their  difference  is  only  in  degree.  In  the  instance  of  Bern- 
hardt the  infinity  of  niceties  and  devices,  ingenious,  elaborate  though  they  be  and  at  times  even  e.squisite,  are  ever  and  obviously 
tricks  and  counterfeits.  Duse  imparts  to  these  same  passes  of  mimicry  a  mystic,  elusive  quality  that  merges  them  into  reality 
beyond  suspicion.  In  truth,  the  Italian  conceals  her  art  so  completely  and  securely  that  one  is  tempted  often  to  doubt  whether 
it  is  by  art  that  she  accompli>hes  her  magic  of  dramatic  deception.  One  recalls  Monsieur  Taine's  comment  on  the  genius  of 
Shakespeare — a  genius,  in  his  opinion,  independent  of  circumstance,  unconscious  of  environment,  or  law,  or  rule;  evolving  its 
marvels  from  pure  imagination. 


nose  and  a  pair  of  Grecian  legs,  \ 
he  would  have  made  a  tragedian  of  ^ 
himself.  For  a  long  time,  indeed,  he 
contemplated  defying  the  traditions  of 
the  stage  in  regard  to  these  details,  and  pur- 
posed to  woo  the  tragic  Muse  despite  her  known 
objection  to  waywardness  in  the  features  men- 
tioned. I'robablv,  Mr.  Wilson  still  cherishes 
the  confidence  that  his  talents  would  have  gone  best  in  the  heroic 
buskin;  just  as  Sarah  Siddons  maintained  to  the  end  of  her  days  that 
she  was  the  greatest  comic  singer  in  the  world,  a  notion  that  was  fully 
shared  and  actively  encouraged  by  her  brother,  the  mighty  John  Philip 
Kemble.  It  would  seem,  at  the  first  glance,  that  Mr.  Wilson  has  fallen  far 
out  of  the  line  of  his  natural  theatric  inclination,  as  he  conceived  it ;  but  in 
reality  he  hasn't.  Being  funny  is  serious  business — very  serious,  indeed.  To 
make  the  world,  or  any  considerable  part  of  it,  laugh  and  grow  fat  is  no  joke. 
It  is  a  mighty  responsibility,  rather,  that  one  undertakes;  a  task  pregnant  with 
tragic  consequences  if  it  be  done  avi'kwardly  and  unsuccessfully.  For  if  there 
is  anyone  to  be  pitied  more  than  the  tragedian  who  is  laughed  at,  it  is  the 
comedian  who  is  not.  There  is  a  notion  prevalent  that  the  funny  man  need 
only  be  himself  in  order  to  excite  the  risibilities  of  his  auditors.  liut,  in  point  of 
fact,  great  comedians  are  generally  sad  and  sombre  fellows.  You  know  the 
story  of  the  irresistible  Grimaldi.  During  his  unprecedented  vogue  in  London, 
it  became  the  fashion  for  physicians  to  send  hypochondriacs  and  dyspeptics  to 
the  witty  clown's  performances,  in  the  firm  belief  that  a  cure  would  ensue.  One 
day  a  famous  practitioner  received  a  patient  who  appeared  to  be  in  the  last  stages 
nf  melancholia.  "The  Black  Devils  have  got  hold  of  you,"  the  physician  said, 
after  hearing  his  caller's  symptoms;  "you  need  to  be  taken  out  of  yourself.  You 
go  and  see  Grimaldi."  ".\las,"  came  the  sombre  response,  "/am  Grimaldi." 
There  are,  doubtless,  men  on  the  stage  peculiarly  gifted  with  a  quality  of  infectious 
humor,  simple  in  its  composition  and  vet  defying  analysis;  working  without  rule  or 
method,  and  dependent  entirely  for  effect  on  the  sympathy  of  the  audience.  Such  a 
man  was  the  late  Mr.  Charles  Reed,  whose  merest  utterance,  without  any  appar- 
ent device  of  vocal  inflection  or  accent,  without  any  attempt  at  facial  illustration 
or  gesture  of  any  sort,  would  set  the  house  a-roaring.  Mr.  Peter  Dailey  and  Mr. 
Otis  Harlan  also  occur  to  me,  at  the  moment,  as  possessors  of  this  crude  but 
effective  faculty.  That  it  is  capable  of  refined  development  for  the  higher  uses 
of  the  theatre  has  not  been  proved,  though  I  believe  Mr.  A\'il]iam  Winter  has 
proclaimed  that  the  art  of  the  minstrel  Charles  Backus — who,  like  the  others 
mentioned,  had  but  to  open  his  mouth  to  make  people  hold  their  sides — was  not 
essentially  different  from  that  of  M.  Coquelin.  It  is  quite  another  matter  when 
one  comes  to  consider  the  humor  of  Mr.  Francis  Wilson.  Here  it  is  evident 
always  to  the  student  of  his  methods  and  effects  that  nothing  is  left  to  chance; 
nothing  to  the  mirthful  sympathy  of  his  audience.  Wilson  brings  to  his  work 
in  comic  opera  the  care  of  the  student  as  well  as  the  spirit  of  the  artist.  The 
enunciation  of  every  line  indicates  discrimination  and  a  nice  sense  of  comic  propor- 
tion. He  would  seem  to  have  investigated  the  anatomy  of  merriment,  as  Burton  did  that  of  melancholy,  and  to  have  learned 
every  muscle,  joint,  and  nerve  in  the  make-up  of  jollity.  The  seeming  spontaneity  of  his  humor  only  proves  the  more  the 
thoroughness  of  his  mechanism.  He  is  something  more  than  the  buffoon  and  clown :  he  is  a  character  actor.  Therein  lies 
the  chief  source  of  his  superiority  over  other  performers  of  his  kind.  To  all  legitimate  intents  and  purposes,  Wilson's  Cadeaux 
would  be  ju;>t  as  effective  in  a  dramatic  performance  as  in  the  surroundings  of  comic  opera.  In  all  the  essential  virtues  of 
consistency,  illusion,  and  appropriate  detail,  it  is  an  impersonation  to  the  last  degree  dramatic.  .And  the  same  holds  true  of 
his  Merry  Monarch,  Lion  Tamer,  and  other  characterizations.  They  are  intelligently  conceived  and  skillfully  wrought-out 
impersonations :  the  works  of  an  actor,  not  of  a  mere  minstrel.  Mr.  Wilson  owes  much  of  his  popularity  and  prosperit; 
to  the  fun  that  was  born  in  him ;  but  all  that  is  best  in  his  achievements  he  owes  to  the  zealous  and  intelligent  care  with 
which  he  has  imparted  to  his  work  qualities  that  do  not  ordinarily  attach  to  endeavors  of  comic  opera. 


—  14— 


r 


m 


(From  a  phnUtjiraph  by  (".in>c-it  &  timon,  Pliiladclphin,  Pa.) 


^ 


BERTHA    WALTZINCxER. 

A  THEATRICAL  enterprise  like  that  conducted  by  the  Messrs. 
Barnabee,  Karl,  and  MacDonald  serves  an  excellent  purpose  be- 
yond the  primary  one  of  providing  public  entertainment.  There  is 
no  subventioned  theatre  where  individual  talent  is  more  promptly  recog- 
nized, more  zealously  assisted  and  encouraged  than  in  the  opera  com- 
pany of  The  ISostonians.  From  its  ranks  have  come  such  pleasing  and 
skillful  artistes  as  Geraldine  Ulmer  and  Zelie  De  Lussan,  both  of  whom 
subsequently  put  to  excellent  advantage  in  foreign  capitals  the  fine  training 
and  experience  gleaned  in  the  company  of  The  Bostonians.  From  the  success 
that  has  attended  the  brief  career  of  Bertha  Waltzinger  as  a  member  of  the 
organization  mentioned,  it  would  seem  as  if  she  were  destined  to  follow  in  the 
fortunate  footsteps  of  former  prima  donnas  of  The  Bostonians.  She  certainly 
has  made  astonishing  progress  in  public  notice  and  in  professional  consideration 
within  the  comparatively  few  months  of  her  stage  career.  It  is  to  be  presumed, 
too,  that  she  has  advanced  correspondingly  in  proficiency  in  her  calling.  Her  rapid 
accession  to  roles  of  the  first  importance,  in  a  cast  as  scrupulous  and  well  equipped  as 
that  of  The  Bostonians,  would  clearly  indicate  as  much.  Miss  Waltzinger's  first  essay 
with  that  company  was  in  the  part  of  Annabel  in  "Robin  Hood."  So  brilliantly  did 
she  acquit  herself  that  she  was  presently  intrusted  with  the  dignity  of  Maid  Marian. 
The  management  of  The  Bostonians  evidently  had  the  fullest  confidence  in  Miss 
Waltzinger's  ability  to  carry  off  successfully  any  role  that  might  fall  to  her,  for  during 
their  last  important  engagement  in  New  York  she  was  called  upon  to  create  such 
diverse  parts  as  the  excessively-knowing  Primrose  and  the  prim  and  prudish  Priscilla 
in  the  opera  of  "  Maid  of  Plymouth."  In  these  roles,  as  in  the  role  of  Marian,  Miss 
Waltzinger  seems  to  have  evinced  unusual  gifts  as  an  actress  and  to  have  won  distin- 
guished favor  as  much  by  reason  of  dramatic  aptitude  as  through  the  possession  of  a 
voice  of  delicious  quality  and  wide  range.  I  write  of  Miss  Waltzinger  from  hearsay 
from  the  published  opinions  of  many  critics  of  consideration.  Unfortunately,  I  have 
missed  the  pleasure  of  seeing  and  hearing  this  young  woman,  of  whose  genuinely  artistic  work, 
however,  I  am  convinced  by  the  singular  unanimity  of  the  commentators  on  her  work.  Each 
appears  to  find  some  especial  grace  or  attainment  to  commend,  and  all  agree  in  according 
her  a  voice  of  sympathetic  timbre,  employed  with  taste  and  precision.  Mr.  Huneker,  a 
critic  for  whose  judgment  1  have  the  highest  esteem,  includes  in  Miss  \\'altzinger's  attributes 
"  excellent  stage  presence,  ...  a  high  soprano  voice  of  great  compass  and  sweet- 
ness, .  .  .  and  the  additional  advantage  of  a  decided  histrionic  talent."  Another 
critic,  whose  evidently  untempered  enthusiasm  makes  me  hesitate  to  quote  his  judgment, 
says:  "Miss  Waltzinger  has  come  forward  with  astonishing  rapidity — with  too  much 
rapidity,  perhaps,  to  allow  either  her  vocal  or  dramatic  genius  its  utmost  possible  display. 
ISut  her  versatility  and  chic,  her  strong  passion,  expressive  gesture  and  countenance,  the 
enthusiasm  which  fires  her  method,  and  her  admirable  technique  are  the  main  factors  of 
popular  light  opera,  and  when  combined,  as  they  are,  with  a  pure,  full,  and  flexible  soprano, 
make  up  an  equipment  such  as  is  possessed  by  few  operatic  singers  in  this  country.  Miss 
Waltzinger  belongs  to  the  select  fellowship  of  American  artistes,  for  whom  D'Oyly  Carte, 
of  the  London  Savoy,  has  always  shown  a  professional  penchant."  It  must  not  be 
supposed  that  all  these  good  things  came  to  Miss  Waltzinger  by  mere  chance.  Rather 
are  they  the  results  of  several  years  of  trying  and  devoted  study  and  a  persistent  determina- 
tion to  hold  to  that  which  is  true  in  her  art.  What  is  to  become  of  this  fine  spirit  now 
that  Miss  Waltzinger  is  to  join  a  burlesque  conipaiiy — the  one  headed  by  Mr.  De  Wolf 
Hopper! — I  should  not  care  to  prophesy. 


—  1 6— 


(From  a  phoioj^rnph  by  Prince,  <•(  New  V.trk.i 


pOR  many  years  the  leading  men  of  American  theatres  of  the  first 
rank  have  been  Englishmen ;  but  let  us  hasten  to  add  that  that 
is  a  mere  accident  or  coincidence,  wholly  without  genuine  significance. 
I  feel  quite  safe  in  asserting  that  Mr.  Daniel  Frohman,  of  the  Lyceum 
Theatre,  in  selecting  Mr.  Herbert  Kelcey  for  the  position  of  leading  man  in 
his  school  of  players,  was  moved  in  no  degree  to  this  choice  by  the  circum- 
stance of  the  actor's  British  nativity.     No  more  was  Mr.  I'almer  prompted  bj 
Anglican  partiality  when  he  placed  Mr.  Maurice  Barrymore  or  Mr.  E.  J.  Henley 
at  the  head  of  his  once  admirable  organization.     It  is  a  mere  play  of  chance, 
too,  that  an  Englishman  leads  the  company  at  Mr.  Charles  Frohman's  Empire 
Theatre.    The  late  Lester  Wallack  openly  expressed  his  preference  for  London 
bred  actors,  and  to  his  confessed  prejudice  the  public  was  indebted  for  the  im- 
portation of  a  memorable  line  of  leading  men.      But  in  the  case  of  the  managers 
of  to-day,  I   repeat  my  conviction  that  the  circumstance  that  their  leading  men 
are  Englishmen  is  without  meaning.      In  point  of  unintermitted  service,  Mr.  Kel- 
cey is  the  doyen  of  the  leading  men  of  the  metropolis,  having  played  in  New  York 
for  ten  or  twelve  successive  seasons.      His  first  appearance  here  was  in  the  melo- 
drama, "Taken  P'rom   Life,"  done  at  Wallack's  in  1882.      He  had  prominent  roles  in 
the  productions  of  "  Lights  o'  London  "  and  "Youth  "  at  the  same  theatre,  and  was 
the  Count  Orloff  in  the  brilliant   performance  of  Sardou's  "Diplomacy,"  a  performance 
which  in  distinction  of  ensemble  has  never  been  surpassed  in  this  country.     From  Wallack's 
Mr.  Kelcey  went  to  the   Madison  Square  Theatre.     His  most  important  work,  however, 
has  been  done  at  the  Lyceum  Theatre,  of  which  he  has  been  the  leading  man  since  1887. 
The  complete  success  that  attended  a  certain  kind  of  plays — plays  abounding  in  what  is  com- 
monly deemed  "heart  interest,"  but  what  is  really  arrant  bathos  and  puerile,  mawkish  senti- 
mentality— threw  both  the  managerial  policy  and  ihe  mimetic  manner  of  this  theatre  into  a 
rut  from  which  the  public  seemed  unwilling  that  they  should  emerge.      One  had  begun  to 
despair  for  example  of  ever  seeing  Mr.  Kelcey  in  any  role  other  than  that  of  a  grieving 
husband  or  a  doubting  lover.      Hut,  finally,  Mr.  Frohman  determined  that  his  clientage 
should  have  something  new.      .A  fig  for  their  prejudices,  and  as  much  for  the  traditions 
of  his  theatre!      To  that  decision  we  owe  the  production  of  Fmero's  ".■\mazons,"  and 
the  most   exquisite  comedy  presentation  of  recent  years.      Mr.  Kelcey 's  Lord  Litterly 
made  us  forget  all  about  the  tearful  husband  of  "  The  Wife  "  and  the  dominie  of  "  The 
Charity   Ball. "     The  part  fitted  him  like  a  Pool  coat ;  he  was  the  confident,  debonair 
e.xquisite  of  the  London  variety  to  the  very  life,  with  just  enough  of  well-bred  rakishness 
''  to  top   it  off  nicely.      Mr.  Kelcey's  admirers  can  never  be  sufiiciently  grateful  to  Mr. 

Pinero  for  having  written  "  The  Amazons  " — I  don't  know  what  a  few  more  "  heart  interest  "  plays  would  have  done  for  him 
as  well  as  the  others  of  the  Lyceum  company. 

The  monotony  of  his  characterizations  was  beginning  to  pall  even  on  those  who  find  most  to  praise  in  his  work.  But,  per- 
haps, it  is  only  fair  to  suggest  that  this  fault  may  have  been  due  in  part  to  the  persistent  sameness  of  the  roles  he  was  called 
upon  to  interpret.  At  any  rate,  he  contrived  to  throw  off  much  of  what  seemed  an  ingrained  mannerism  when  he  essayed 
lately  the  part  of  Carew  in  "A  W'olt  in  Sheep's  Clothing."  It  was  a  virile,  if  not  vigorous,  impersonation,  and  one  into  which 
the  actor  projected  far  less  of  h'S  own  personality  than  has  been  his  wont. 

In  Lord  Litterly,  again,  he  had,  apparently,  but  to  let  himself  go  in  order  to  realize  fully  Mr.  Pintro's  idea  of  the  character. 
For  parts  of  this  sort  Mr.  Kelcey  is  peculiarly  qualified,  both  by  nature  and,  it  is  to  be  presumed,  by  breeding. 

In  appearance,  carriage,  and  manner — in  this  last,  even  to  the  nice  employment  of  vocal  devices — Mr.  Kelcey  is  convincingly 
like  the  high-bred,  self-compl.-cent,  ea.sy-going  man  of  fashion  that  the  author  had  in  mind  when  he  set  out  to  picture  a  fellow 
who  should  storm  and  capture,  politely  hut  firmly,  the  heart  of  the  queen  of  "The  .Amazons." 
Apropos,  I  believe  Mr.  Kelcey  was  originally  intended  for  the  Guards. 


-18- 


(I'roin  u  pliotogmph  by  iNirony,  Ni-w  \  i>i'k  > 


w 


of 
he 


EFFIE    SHANNON. 

IT  was  the  poet  Herrick,  I  believe,  who  Hkened  each 
of  his  admirations  to  some  dehcious  blossom.      If 
the  conceit  were  not  so  distinctly  his  own,  1  should  like 
to  say  that  Elfie  Shannon  always  suggests  to  me  a  spray 
of  peach  buds.      There  is  something  so  faintly  pink  and  ten- 
der and  dewy  about  the  young  woman  who  for  three  or  four 
years  played  the.  iiij^etuw  roles  at  JNIr.  Daniel  Frohman's  Ly- 
ceum Theatre.      .She  played  them  very  well,  too.  and  to  the 
complete  satisfaction  of  the  generally   fastidiou-i  clientage  of 
what  is  in  many  respects  the  best  conducted   theatre  in  Amer- 
ica.    As  to  the  roles  themselves,   they  were — well,  they  were 
5  y  excellent  models  of  what  has  for  some  time  been  the  classic  />;- 

>-  !^e'/i!/i'  in  the  theatre  m  this  country:  the  pouting,  puttering,  gig- 

gling young  woman,  whom  the  dramatist  directs  to  do  all  sorts  of  silly, 
fresh,  and  froward  things,  from  crushing  the  presumptuous  villain,  to  coaxing 
an  avowal  from  the  bashful  idiot  whom  the  exigencies  of  the  plot  compel 
her  to  marry  in  the  last  act.      O!  a  wonderful  creation  is  this  iitgcnue, 
whom  several  of  the  most  popular  playwrights  of  the  day  have  evolved 
from  their  virgin  imaginations.      The  like  of  her  is  not  to  be  met,  in  real 
life,  in  any  land  known  to  man.      Lately  there  have  been  signs  of  a  pass- 
ing of  this  nondescript  of  fictitious  femininity,  this  torturing  of  sweet  six- 
teen into  a  companion  piece  of  Simple  Simon ;  for  which  the  Destinies  give 
joy  to  the  playniakers  I 

When  Mr.  Frohman's  admirable  theatre  broke  away  from  the  school  of 
plays  for   which    New  York  playgoers  evinced   for  a  time  a  stubborn   pre- 
dilection. Miss  Shannon  came  into  opportunities  of  showing  her  real  worth. 
1  recall  particularly  her  neatly  drawn  and  vigorously  e.xecuted  performance  of 
A'iolet  .Armitage  in  ••  Nerves,"  and  her  skillful  treatment  of  Kate  Merriweather 
in  "The  Idler."     To  the  impersonation  of  Meg  in  "Lady  Bountiful."  and  to 
that  of  Hetty  Thorpe  in  "Squire  Kate,"  she  brought  the  qualities  of  sentiment 
and  poesy  with  which,  if  one  may  judge  from  physical  attributes,  she  is  gener- 
ously endowed.      Notwithstanding  these  evidences  of  fine  dramatic  capacity,  1 
confess  that  I  was  surprised  to  see  the  strength  and  certainty  of  Miss  Shannon's 
Dora  in  Sardou's  matchless  "Diplomacv. "     Unfortunately,  1  have  seen  none  of 
the  famous  Doras  of  stage  tradition,  but  it  is  not  easy  to  fancy  how  in  point,  mere- 
ly, of  winsomeness  and  true  ingenue  intent  they  could  have  materially  surpassed 
Miss  Shannon's  impersonation.     Before  joining  Mr.  Daniel  Frohman's  company, 
'  Miss  Shannon  hid  her  light  under  the  bushel  of  .Augustiii   Daly's  theatre — that 

bushel  on  which  sit  so  heavily  Mr.  Daly  and  his  gifted  leading  lady.      Her  most  recent 
appearance  in  a  metropolitan  production  of  considerable  interest  was  in   "A  Woman 
No  Importance,"  the  polylogue  that  Oscar  Wilde  tried  so  hard  to  make  completely  and  consistently  indecent,  a  task  in  which 
certainly  succeeded  to  a  degree  calculated  to  satisfy  the  most  vicious. 


% 


%     ^ 


m 


•••^ 


(rr.iin  a  |>liol..>;rapli  by  Siirciiy,  New  Vnrli.) 


(/,     CHAKESPEARE  is  no  longer  the  fashion.    Actors 
a'  and  managers  recognize  the  hopelessness  of  the         ; 

^     attempt  to  win  laurels  of  bay  and  of  gold  from  urban 
"*     communities  through  the  medium  of  the  master  drama- 
,     list's  works,  except  m  extraordinary  circumstances.    Henry 
'     lr\ing,  of  course,  will  be  instantly  cited  in  contradiction 
of  this  statement.      But  the  concluding  words — "  in  extra- 
ordinary circumstances  " — fully  explain  the  seeming  e.x- 
ception.      'Ihe  success  of  the  Englishman   in  the  direction 
indicated  is  due  quite  as  much  to  the  spectacular  quality  of  hi.s 
productions  as  to  the  merits  of  his  own  performances.      He  is 
not  only  an  extremely   interesting  actor,  but  he  is  also  a  most 
ingenious  showman.      A  combination  of  the  two  is  required, 
repeat,  to  conmiand  the  admiration  of  most  playgoers  in  thi 

chief  centres  of   theatrical   activity.      It  was   because   Edwin        "^  — 

Booth  disregarded  the  attendant  details  of  his  .Shakespearean 

presentations  in  the  matter  of  supporting  cast,  scenery,  trappings,  and  other  adjuncts  of  spec- 
tacular effect,  that  his  latter  efforts  met  with  decreased  patronage  and  blunt  blame.  For  much 
the  same  reason  has  Mr.  Keene  failed  to  command  his  deserts  as  a  consistent,  intelligent,  and 
k'coted  protagonist  of  Shakespearean  tnigedy.  In  his  persistent  fealty  to  that  "  old  school  " 
ihat  made  little  account  of  the  pageantry  of  the  stage,  Mr.  Keene  has  missed  opportunities  that 
would  have  compelled  even  frivolous  criticism  to  accord  him  his  due  place  m  the  splendid  realm 
of  tragic  acting.  That  he  is  a  player  of  the  very  first  order,  I  would  not  assert.  Indeed,  at 
times  he  has  blundered  egregiously.  His  Richard  III.,  for  instance,  made  the  judicious  both 
to  grieve  and  to  laugh — so  extreme  was  it  in  its  grotesque  outlines  and  crude  coloring.  But 
one  error  of  this  sort  does  not  take  from  an  actor  his  essential  competency  and  superiority  in 
other  roles.  Mr.  Irving's  Romeo,  for  instance,  was  one  of  the  tragic  jokes  of  contemporary 
stage  history.  I  believe,  however,  that  in  Mr.  Keene's  own  opinion,  whatever  of  lasting  fame 
may  come  to  him  by  virtue  of  his  lingering  in  a  held  of  endeavor  that  has  been  abandoned  by 
ilmost  every  .American  actor  save  himself,  will  rest  on  his  impersonation  of  the  Crook-back. 
This  notion  probably  arises  from  the  inordinate  popularity  of  his  impersonation  among  less 
sophisticated  and  more  robust  plavgoers  of  the  provinces.  There  the  measured  strut  and  rhythmic 
rant  of  the  "old  school,"  the  noise  and  turmoil  and  sputtering  violence  are  still  in  favor.  And 
who  shall  decree  that  they  are  utterly  wrong  ?  There  were  men  and  women  of  taste  and  erudi- 
tion before  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  record  and  tradition  attest  that  they  applauded 
to  the  echo  the  very  methods  that  we  smile  at,  some  of  us.  in  Mr.  Keene.  It  is  largely  personal 
fancy  and  prevailing  custom  that  set  up  the  standards  of  theatrical  perfection.  At  the  moment 
caprice  runs  to  quiet  effect  and  suppressed  emotion — convenient  phr.ise !  When  the  hero  is  called  upon  to  denounce  his  best 
friend  for  some  deed  of  ineffable  treachery,  we  would  have  him  do  it  in  dainty  epigram  and  while  engaged  in  rolling  a  cigarette 
or  adjusting  his  dinner  cravat.  Or  if  he  is  offering  choice  of  arms  to  his  mortal  foe,  on  field  of  battle  or  duelling  ground,  we 
expect  him  to  do  it  in  much  the  same  tone  of  voice  that  he  would  employ  in  asking  him  if  he'll  have  ice  in  his  ordinaire. 
The  faults  most  usually  found  in  Mr.  Keene's  Richard  are  by  no  means  so  conspicuous  in  his  other  chief  impersonations.  His 
Hamlet  is  a  much  more  finished  creation,  and  creation  it  is — in  so  far  as  divergence  from  precedent  and  stage  tradition  can 
make  it.  His  Shylock  is  impressive,  well  colored,  and  full  of  character.  His  Othello  is  picturesque  and  virile,  though  lacking 
in  subtle  shading  in  the  earlier  acts — a  fault  atoned  for  in  a  measure  by  the  strength  of  the  sombre  fatalism  with  which  he 
envelops  the  character  after  the  death  of  Uesdemona.  His  further  repertory  includes  Richelieu,  Macbeth,  Bertuccio,  Claude 
Melnotte,  Romeo,  and  Louis  .\1. 


(Krom  ;i  i.||.ilo>;r;iph  l.y  l:iik.r,  I  ..liniiluis.  1  Mil...) 


JULIA    ^lARLOWi:. 

is  an  interesting  and  suggestive  fact 
that  Julia  Marlowe  does  not  venture  to  tilt  her 
talents  against  the  prejudices  and  frivolities  of  the  metro- 
politan stage.  "  1  should  so  much  like  to  appear  in  New  York," 
the  actress  said  recently,  with  pathetic  frankness;  "but  they  won't  have  me 
there."  In  almost  all  of  the  other  chief  cities  of  the  United  States  the  advent 
of  Miss  Marlowe  is  one  of  the  genuine  events  of  the  play  season;  but  in  New 
York  the  critics  either  flout  her  efforts  or  write  of  them  patronizingly.  As 
for  the  public — on  the  sparse  occasions  that  the  actress  has  bid  for  their  favor 
or  consideration — they  have  passed  her  by  with  .scant  encouragement  and  im- 
material patronage.  One  may  state  these  truths  bluntly  and  unreservedly  be- 
cause they  are  so  infinitely  to  the  discredit  of  the  taste  of  New  York  and  so 
utterly  wanting  in  significance  as  to  the  real  merits  of  Miss  Marlowe's  per- 
formances. There  is  something  droll  and  mirthful  in  the  conceit  of  a  com- 
munity turning  up  its  nose  at  gifts  so  rare  and  gracious  as  those  of  Miss 
Marlowe.  \Vhere,  here  and  now,  is  to  be  found  the  peer  of  this  actress  in 
Shakespearean  impersonations  ?  She  may  be  lacking  in  the  physical  pulchritude 
that  gave  to  Adelaide  Neilson  a  touch  of  divinity;  in  majesty  of  port  and  in 
classic  severity  of  style  she  wants  the  splendid  impressiveness  that  belonged 
to  Mary  Anderson;  the  e.xquisite  intelligence  and  nice  mechanism  that  in- 
formed Modjeska's  work  in  other  days  are  less  conspicuously  present  in  Miss 
Marlowe's.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  these  deficiencies,  she  stands  notably  beyond 
even  the  very  front  line  of  the  most  brilliant  of  the  mediocrities  who  wculd 
laim  equal  rank  with  her.  1  spoke  in  thi.s  strain  recently  to  a  friend  of  niirf — 
a  critic  of  fine  reputation  and  consideraBle  worth  as  well — and  when  he  sccfftd 
airily  at  my  enthusiasm,  I  silenced  him  by  asking  him  to  point  out  another 
artiste  in  the  American  theatre  who  so  nearly  approached  real  greatness. 
He  admitted,  by  the  bye,  that  Sara  Bernhardt  had  e.xpressed  the  opinion 
that  in  Marlowe  the  .-Xmerican  stage  possessed  an  actress  of  marvellcus 
promise.  Now  I  would  not  be  understood  as  deeming  the  subject  of  these 
lines  entitled  to  unqualified  commendation.  As  yet,  indeed.  Miss  Marlowe 
has  by  no  means  exceeded  the  promise  of  the  very  first  years  of  her  high 
endeavors,  even  if  she  has  appro-\iinately  fulfilled  it.  Either  through  want 
of  courage  on  her  own  part,  or  through  lack  of  enterprise  on  the  part  of  her 
exploiters,  she  has  not  made  the  hazard  of  new  creations.  Nor  has  she 
even  traversed  the  entire  way  trod  and  beaten  by  her  immediate  predeces- 
sors. Beyond  the  cut  and  dried  repertory  of  Juliet,  Rosalind,  Pauline, 
lulia,  \'iola,  Parthenia,  and  Galatea,  she  has  not  ventured.  She  has  not  as  yet  contributed  to  the 
thespian  annals  of  her  time  one  such  glorious  impersonation  as  Mary  Anderson  bequeathed  to  the 
stage  in  Perdita — that  wondrous  vision  of  intelligence,  grace,  and  sentiment  that  must  forever  bide 
in  memory  as  a  creation  in  art  that  took  on  tfie  dignity  of  an  inspiration.  Miss  Marlowe  is  still  comparatively  young — probably 
not  more  than  thirty  years  of  age.  But  she  must  be  up  and  doing.  The  race  of  talent  has  become  intense;  the  runners  tread 
on  each  other's  heels.  Woe  to  those  who  stop  to  tie  their  shoe  strings — to  change  Mr.  Carlyle's  phrase.  Not  only  has  this 
actress  of  superb  possibilities  neglected  to  create  new  roles  or  to  add  a  fresh  glory  to  worn  ones:  she  has  not  materially  im- 
proved her  impersonation  of  those  that  she  essayed  in  the  very  beginning  of  her  career-  Tender,  dainty,  sympathetic,  and 
adequately  magnetic  she  has  been  always.  Correct  taste  and  an  apparently  keen  intelligence  were  noticeable  in  that  matinee 
performance  of  Parthenia  in  which  she  first  made  a  tentative  presentation  before  a  New  York  audience  some  seven  years  ago. 
But,  much  as  I  admire  Miss  Marlowe,  and  an.xious  as  I  am  that  merits  like  hers  should  take  their  rightful  precedence  in  oo]  ular 
esteem  and  material  reward  before  the  artful  pretensions,  affectations,  and  outriglit  meretricities  of  some  stagers,  both  of  native 
and  foreign  origin — whom  New  York  does  not  refuse  to  "have" — yet  in  honesty  must  I  declare  that,  in  my  opinion,  she  has 
profited  by  her  experience  and  prosperity  in  the  provinces  only  in  a  disappointing  degree.  In  her  Rosahnd,  in  her  Juliet,  Par- 
thenia, and  Julia,  there  is  still  the  curse  of  imitation — unconscious,  possibly,  but  still  imitation.  The  odor  of  the  midnight  oil 
may  not  hang  about  her  work — it  is  facile,  smooth,  confident  to  an  extent  that  almost  convinces  one  of  its  spontaneity — but 
there  does  inhere  the  tang  of  instruction — one  still  detects  the  thumb  marks  of  the  taskmaster. 


\6 


(1  I, .in  .1  |,h..i...:,,,|.|,  1.1    1  .1,1,,  N.  «   \  ...k 


VV/HEX  the  author  of  "  Held  by  the  Enemy  "  was 
gathering  what  he  deemed  the  properest  cast 
for  the  production  of  his  play,    he  selected  Charles 
Dickson  for  the  role  of  Bean,  the  war  correspondent. 
Mr.  Dickson  was  at  that  time  an  actor  of  slight  e.xpe- 
■ience  and   no  particularly  noteworthy  achievement;   but 
Mr.  Gilletie  considered  that  the  youth's  natural  breeziness 
of  manner,  quick  intelligence,  and  brisk  mode  of  speech  cut 
him  out  for  the  comedy  element  of  the  piece.     The  event 
', roved  the  correctness  of  his  judgn-.ent,  for  Mr.  Dickson  prompt- 
ly scored  a  hit.      The  war  correspondent  of  the  stage  is  never 
anything  like  the  war  correspondent  of  the  field — not  in  the  least 
ike — but  neither  dramatists,  actors,  or  the  public  are  aware  of 
that,  and  Mr.  Dickson's  Bean  was  accepted  antl  applauded 
as  an  unusually  verisimilar  characterization.      His  clever- 
ness won  for  him  a  considerable  amount  of  popularity, 
and  when  Mr.  Frohman  formed  the  company  of  the  Ly- 
ceum Theatre,  he  chose  him  for  the  position  of  light  come- 
dian.     As  Jack  Dexter  in  "The  Wife,"  Mr.  Dickson  had 
.         a  part  that  the  authors  of  the  play  probably  devised  espe- 
cially for  him.      His  impersonation  of  the  tvpical — stage 
typical,  of  course — young  collegian  pleased  the  town  vast- 
-X      ly;  ana,  in  truth,  one  does  not  often  see  a  more  amusing 
'        bit  than  the  scene  in  which  Mr.  Dickson  and  Miss  Dillon, 
I  think  it  was,  got  into  trouble   because  of  the  smoked 
glass  through  which  they  were  to  view  an  approaching 
solar  eclipse.      Mr.  Dickson's  seemingly  independent  suc- 
cess induced  him  to  make  the  hazard  of  a  stellar  career, 
and  for  the  past  few  seasons  he  has  been  travelling  througfi 
the  country  as  a  star  with  varying  but  doubtless-satisfac- 
tory orosperity.      For  two  seasons,  indeed,  he  headed  an 
entertainment  of  marked   popular  attractiveness.      "In- 
cog," the  title  of  the  play  in  reference,  was  by  no  means  a 
piece  in  which  consistency  was  sacrificed  to  the  advantage  of 
the  star;  but  it  gave   Mr.  Dickson  ample  opportunity  for  the 
exercise  of  his  especial  qualities.      During  the  past  year  he  Dro- 
duced  several  new  comedies — "Admitted  to  the  Bar"  and  "Wil- 
lie "  among  them — but  none  of  them  contained  a  role  that  enabled 
Air.  Dickson  to  repeat  his  former  successes.      It  is  proba'oly  on  the  cards,  though,  that  he 
will  eventually  attain  a  place  of  the  first  distinction  among  the  comedians  of  the  day.      He 
certainly  has  the  comedy  sense  developed  to  an  unusual  degree;  he  possesses  a  considerable 
command  over  the  risibilities  of  his  audience,  and  he  is,  best  of  all.  scrupulously  careful  in  the  proper  employment  of  every  de- 
tail that  could  add  to  the  effectiveness  of  his  performance. 


-:(=,- 


^J 


(Fmin  .1  phoioyntph  Iiy  Uiikrr,  rnhiinhii!*.  *>hin.) 


1-|AI)    it 
Ettie 


ELLSLER. 

not  been  for  "  Hazel    Kirke," 
Ellsler  would,  in  all  probability, 
occupy  a   niucti   prouder   position   in   the 
world  of  the  theatre  than  that  with  which 
she  has  apparently  contented  herself.      Her 
amentable  success  in  the  title  role  of  that  play 
of  mawkish  sentimentality — a  role  that  she  act- 
ed almost  without  intermission  for  three  years, 
and  which  she  abandoned  only  upon  the  impera- 
demand   of   her   physician  I — lured   her   from  at- 
j  tempting  heights  to  which  she  had  every  right  and  reason 

to  aspire.    The  inordinately  prolonged  identification  with  the 
one  part  must  necessarily  have  stunted  the  development  of 
talents  innately  fine,  and  seriously  have  hampered  the  play  of 
temperamental   processes.      If  only   the  double  stage  and   the 
cooling  machines  of  the  Madison  .Square  Theatre  had  refused 
to  work;  or  if  the  relentless  miller  had  uttered  his  melodramatic 
curse  less  effectively;  or  if  Miss  Ellsler's  physician,  in  a  mo- 
ment of  inspiration,  had  divined  the  ultimate  effect  of  that  curse  on 
her  nerves  a  year  or  two  before  the  crises  actually  came — what  a 
wealth  of  delightful  creations  Miss  Ellsler  might,  and  in  all  likeli- 
hood would,  have  contributed  to  the  stage.      She  started  under  the 
most  favoring  of  all  conditions  for  one  of  her  calling :  she  was  born 
of  theatrical  parents.      She  knew  much  of  her  craft  before  she  was 
born.      She  was  bred  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  playhouse,  breathed  in 
her  childhood  the  air  of  the  theatre,  in  a  horizon  bound  by  painted 
skies  and  fantastic  back-drops.      Possibly  when  she  begged  a  sugar 
plum  she  did  it  in  the  tones  and  accents  ordained  by  the  thespian 
Muse — just    as   the   predestined   poet  lisps  in   numbers.     When   three 
years  old  she  made  a  hit  as  the  Genius  of  the   Ring  in   "Aladdin." 
A  year   later   she  was  hailed  as  a  prodigy  for  her  performance  of 
Eva  in  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin."     As  she  grew  in  grace  and  beauty, 
;  her   parents    decided    that   she   should    trip    to    fame   and   profit   as    a 

p;-t-miere  daust'ust: ;  so  for  some  years,  while  receiving  her  education  at  an 
Ursuline  convent,  she  went  through  the  trials  of  being  "turned  for  dancing." 
At  fifteen  she  resumed  her  dramatic  endeavors  and  became  a  member  of  the 
stock  company  conducted  by  her  father  at  Cleveland,  Ohio.      The  good  reports  of  her 
gifts  went  abroad  from  this  provincial  playhouse,  and  even  those  skeptical  of  youthful  gen- 
ius came  to  hope  for  fine  things  from  this  child  who,  at  si.xteeii.  played  Juliet  and  Rosalind 
with  rare  charm,  if  not  with  nice  precision.    To  think  of  such  possibilities  put  to  naught  by 
the  concatenation  of  a  double  stage,  a  cooling  machine,  and  an  aged  miller  who  cursed  to  the 
accompaniment  of  slow  music  and  an  artificial  rain  storm  !     F"or  those  were  essential  ingredi- 
ents in  the  success  of  "  Hazel  Kirke."  and  I  have  already  intimated  how  the  success  of  "  Hazel 
Kirke  "  outwitted  the  destinies  that  designed  Effie  Ellsler  to  be  one  of  t!ie  radiant  figures  in  the 
American  theatre. 


IT  was  Mr.  William  D.  Howells  who  rather  startled  us  all  a  few  years 
ago  by  announcing  that  none  of  us  had  been  taking  Mr.  Edward 
Harrigan  seriously  enough.      We  were  admonished  by  the  novelist  that 
instead  of  merely  being  amused  when  we  went  to  Harrigan's  Theatie,  we 
should  be  mstructed  as  well,  and  go  through  such  other  mental  processes 
as  are  supposed  to  acpompany  the  aspect  of  serious  works  of  art.     Har- 
rigan was  a  dramatic  Dickens,  according  to  Mr.  Howells — a  Hogarth  of  the 
theatre       A  careless  community  had  for  years  been  looking  upon  Mr.  Harrigan 
as  a  deft  compiler  of  familiar  odds  and  ends  of  the  variety  stage  and  minstrel 
'  hall.      They  were  grateful  to  him  for  the  many  merry  hours  they  had  passed  with 

the  Mulligans,  McSorleys.  Reillys,  and  Old  I-avender.      They  had  taken  Cordelia 
to  their  hearts  and  sympathized  with  her  aspirations.     The  catching  marches  and 
hauntuig  jigs  that  accompanied  the  action  of  Mr.  Harrigan's  skits,  sketches,  and  com- 
edies lingered  long  after  the  medium  of  their  introduction  had  been  withdrawn  frt  m 
the  boards.      It  was  all  so  rip-roaring,  rollicking,  and  jolly — this  entertainment  that  a 
popular  comedian  had  been  giving  the  town — that  no  one  suspected  that  it  was  really 
high  art.      But  one  night  Mr.  Howells  uas  induced  to  go  to  a  playhouse,  and  happy 
chance  took  him  to  the  one  where  Mr.  Harrigan   held  sway.      The  very  ne.xt  day  the 
novelist,  carried  away  by  the  novelty  of  his  emotions,  sat  himself  down  and  proclaimed 
his  discovery.      Long  before  this,  however,  Mr.  Harrigan  had  won  for  himself  a  dis- 
tinguished position  in  the  favor  of  metropolitan  theatregoers.      His  career  has  not  been 
without  its  reverses ;  but  I  can  recall  no  one  who  has  achieved  distinction  equal  to  his 
in  the  triplicate  quality  of  player,   playwright,  and  play  exploiter.      The  critic  chill 
and  conservative  already  referred  to  has  decreed  him  almost  the  first  place  in  the  tile 
of  native  dramatists;  general  opinion — I  will  not  say  the  best — regards  him  without 
a  peer  in  some  certain  forms  of  mimetic  personation,  and  the  prosperity  of  his  meth- 
ods of  theatrical  direction  is  attested  by  the  handsome  theatre  known  as  Harrigan's 
and  devoted  exclusively,  until  within  a  very  recent  period,  to  the  pre.sentation  of  plays 
of  his  own  devising.      In  writing  of  Mr.  Harrigan,  one  is  somewhat  at  a  loss  whether 
to  consider  him  chiefly  as  an  actor  or  as  a  dramatist.      His  most  valid  title  to  fame  lies, 
I  believe,  in  his  achievemenis  in  the  latter  quality.     As  the  impersonator  of  the  whole- 
souled,  honest-hearted,   good-natured  Irishman  of  exuberant  humor,   flowing  wit,   and 
ready  retort — the  conventional  Irishman  of  the  stage — Mr.  Harrigan  meets  all  the  re- 
1  quirements  imposed  by  the  popular  taste  and  the  traditions  of  the  local  theatre  regarding 

that  particular  form  of  characterization.      But  the  limits  of  his  achievement  in  this  direction 
are  so  circumscribed,  and  they  are  so  frequently  attained  by  other  mummers  of  no  especial 
;'  "  merit,  that  I  think  it  obvious  that  the  source  of  Mr.  Harrigan's  reputation  must  be  sought  in 

his   dramatic  compositions.      Here   he  stands  quite  alone.      Many  have  sought  to   imitate   the 
manner  of  the  entertainment  concocted  by  Mr.  Harrigan ;  but  no  one  has  succeeded  in  presenting 
such  convincing  semblances  of  certain  phases  of  life.      At  the  first  glance,  one  might  be  tempted 
to  regard  the  "types"  which  make  up  the  dramath  pcrsoncr  of  his  works  as  grotesques  and  e.x- 
travagances ;  but  it  is  asserted,  by  persons  fit  by  experience  and  observation  to  judge,  that  the  author 
has  gone,  in  the  main,  but  little  beyond  the  actualities  in  depicting  the  color  and  movement  of  the 
town's  lower  life.      Certain  it  is  that  in  almost  every  one  of  his  plays,  no  matter  how  unconvincing  or  im- 
possible It  may  be  in  its  general  scheme,  there  is  to  be  found  some  genre  bit  that  fully  justifies  the  existence 
of  the  entirety.     "The  "tough  girl"  of  "  Reilly  and  the  400"  could  easily  bear  on  her  poor  rounded  shoulders,  showing  beneath 
that  transparent  jersey  of  shiny  black,  a  vastly  less  entertaining  play  than  that  in  which  she  moved.      So  wonderfully  skillful, 
indeed,  is  Mr.  Harrigan  in  the  preparation  and  fit  adjustment  of  such  colorful  and  picturesque  details  as  the  one  -ust  mentioned, 
that  it  is  not  always  easy  to  tell  where  reality  ends  and  art  begins.      No  wonder  he  fooled  Mr.  Howells. 


iW*<l4« 


ll-r.M»,i  i.li..l..nra,.li  l>y  I  ..Ik.  N.w  ^.'^1<J 


oil 


-f 


GRACE  GOLDEN. 

"THE  conspicuous  cliarni  of  Grace  Golden's  performances 
is  their  lack  of  "  Frenchiness."     That  statement,  used 
in  connection   with  the  art  and  artifice  of  a  comic  opera 
singer,  may   seem  somewhat  parado.xical ;  but  if  you  will 
recall  for  a  moment   the  trite  and   hackneyed  modes  and 
manners  that   have  come   to  be  regarded  as  indications  of 
spirit  and  traininij  distinctly  Gallic,  Parisian,  you  will  under- 
stand the  intent  of   the  phrase.      For  some  time  now.  the 
comic  opera  stage  of  this  country  has  been  suffering  from  this 
evil  of  transplanted  affectations.      Some  essayists  ot  the  stage 
have  written  so  applaudingly  and  alluringly,  and  with  such  an 
air  of  authority  of  those  indefinable  qualities  learned  tiniMa/e, 
Lantiillerie,  chic,  and  what  not  untranslatable,  that  every  candi- 
date for  the  honors  of  light  opera  has  thought  it  necessary  to  im- 
itate not  only  the   Aimees   and   'I'heos  and  Ji.dics,  but  the  Fougeres 
and  —  uid  the  Xayas,  even.     We  have  had,  in  consequence,  such  a  rash 
and  reckless  employment   of  leery   winks,    facial  innuendo,  and  pedal 
suggestion,  as  one  could  never  see  even  in  the  French  capital  outside  of 
the  Moulin  Rouge  or  a  ball  in  the  Latin  Quarter.     The  dominance  of  this 
so  called  French  "school,"  with  its  constant  suggestion  of  the  practiced 
grisette  and  the  mischievous   flower  girl,  has   worked  serious  detriment  not 
only  to  many  young  artistes  of  naturally  excellent  methods,  but  also  to  the 
fit  and  accurate  interpretation  of  the  works  of  some  composers.      No  matter 
what  might  be  the  real  character  of  the  role  impersonated — be  it  Cuban  se- 
horita,  Itaii;in  donizella.   native   Hiawatha,  or  swarthy  Cingalese — she  is 
pretty  sure  to  wink  the  other  eye,  flutter  her  panniers,  tip-tilt  her  skirts, 
and  do  the  half-dozen  other  tricks  prescribed  and  foimulated  by  that 
precious  French  '*  school."      It  is  genuinely  refreshing  to  meet  with  an 
artiste  who,  either  unwittingly  or   from   design,  refrains  from  these  in- 
effective sophistications;    for  to  do  so,  tokens  at  once  individuality  and 
independence,  attributes   of  the   utmost  valu»  in  artistic  endeavor.      It 
was  Miss  Golden's  performance  of  Lola  in  •'  Cavalleria  Rusticana  "  that 
most  distinctly  marked    her   freedom    from  the    failings  referred  to.      Her 
Lola  was  not  the  woman  of  the  Latin  Quarter  or  the  Cafe  des  Ambassa- 
deurs  or  the  Bouffes  Parisiennes,  as  she  is  only  too  often  represented  to 
be.    She  was  the  Lola  that  Verga  had  in  mind,  the  Italian  woman  of 
rather  naive  wickedness,  of  rather  transparent  coquetry,  with  no  other 
Wiles  and  witcheries  than  those  given  by   Nature  and  learned  in  the 
rustic  circu  ustances  of  a  Sicilian  village;   the  Lola  that  you  may  see 
chatting  with  a  gondolier  in  the  piazzetta  San  Marco,  or  chaffing  a  cab- 
man on  the  Corso,  or  waiting  for  the  return  of  some  favorite's  boat 
on  the  quay  of  Santa  Lucia;   the  real  Lola,  in  short,  and  not  a  Giro- 
fle  or  a  Parfumeuse.      Miss   Golden's  superiority  in  the  detail  that 
I  have  pointed  out  evidences  the  advantage  of  proper  training  and 
appropriate  apprenticeship.      She  studied   for  a  time  at  the  College 
of  Music  in  Cincinnati — not  the  best  school  in  the  world,  of  course,  but 
one  where  much  that  is  good  and  very  little  that  is  false  may  be  acquired 
by  an  earnest  student.    Subsequently,  she  came  under  the  direction  of  Madame 
Vlaretzek,  and  later  of  Madame  Fursch-Madi. 


(Kriim  a  plii>lo!{ra|ili  liy  lalk,  New  Yiirk.) 


ALEXANDER    SALVINI. 

IF  Alexander  Salvini  ever  learns  to  speak  English  he  may 
become  a  very  satisfactory  actor.     He  doubtless  has 
natural  aptitude  for  the  calling  of  the  theatre,  certain  phys- 
ical attributes  of  great  advantage  to  the  player,  and  some 
acquired  graces  as  well.      But  at  present  he  labors  under  the 
same  difficulty  as  that  zealous   Portuguese  actress.    Made- 
moiselle Rhea — or  is  it  Belgian  ?     Their  dialects  are  marvel- 
lously like.      I  cannot  but  admire  the — the — the  confidence  and 
the  artistic  zeal  of  these  gifted  foreigners  who  do  not  hesitate  to  en- 
ter the  lists  of  a  strange  country  and  try  conclusions  with  rivals  to  the 
manner  born.     It  is  really  a  delicate  compliment  that  they  pay  us; 
it  indicates  such  high  appreciation  of  our  taste  and  patience.      One 
never  hears  of  American  actors  doing  ambitious  things  of  that  sort — 
no,  indeed  !     They  don't  go  to  Italy  and  Portugal — or  is  it  Belgium  ? — and 
France  and  Germany,  and  undertake  to  act  in  a  language  with  which  they 
have  only  a  garbled  acquaintance.     The  enterprise  of  players  like  Mr.  Sal- 
vini and  Mademoiselle   Rhea  is  all  the  more  courageous  and  commendable 
in  view  of  the  fact   that  precise  and  proper  employment  of  the  vernacular  is 
one  of  the  cardinal  demands  put  upon  the  theatre  by  tradition  and  tenet.     A 
player,  therefore,  that  is  brave  enough  to  snap  his  fingers  at  this  demand  and 
trust  to  other  qualities  to  ci)mpensate  for  his  public  onslaught  upon  the  speech 
of  the  land  should  be  dealt  with  kindly.     And  it  is  proof  of  our  cosmopolitan- 
ism that  we  tolerate  and  even  encourage  this  unwitting  violation  of   lingual 
integrity.      I   have  heard  a  German  actor,  who  belongs  to  one  of  our  most  es- 
teemed stock  companies,  rail  at  the  critics  for  obchecting  to  his  pronunziation 
off  de  Engglish   langvidge;   I  have  heard  him  appeal  to  unprejudiced  friends 
whether  it  vas  not   onpossible  to  detegt  de  slidest  Cherman  accend  in  hiss 
speech.     But  it  is  only  in  rare  cases  that  such  liberties  with  the  purity  of  the 
vernacular  on  the  part  of  foreign  born  actors  are  rebuked.      Indeed,  in  most  in- 
stances, what  is  commonly  termed  an  accent  is  regarded  as  a  real  attraction,  carry- 
ing novelty,  piquancy,  and   impressiveness.      Mr.  Salvini,  I  am  sure,  has  suffered 
'     nothing  in  the  esteem  of  his  audiences  because  of  the  obtrusive  reminder  of  his 
Italian  nativity  and   breeding.      There  are  moments  in  his  performances  when  trip- 
ping and  stumbling  and  curvetting  about  in  the  unfamiliar  sounds  and  idioms  of 
i,K     our  language   he  becomes  quite  unintelligible;  but  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Salvini  that 
lt-,Sv    only  adds  to  the  fire,  the  impetuosity,  and  abandon  of  his  impersonation.      What 
have  such  dashing,  swash-buckling,  up-and-at-'cni  fellows  as  D'Artagnan,  Ruy 
Bias,  and  Don  CKsar  to  do  with  proper  English  ?     They  were  men  of  action,  not 
of  words;  then,  why  concern  oneself  with  Mr.  Salvini's  manner  of  speech  in  his 
\\   counterfeits  of  those  heroes  .'     Even  in  the  role  of  Romeo — where,  in  the  case 
L,y  of  ordinary  actors,  speech  does  count  for  much — Mr.  Salvini's  reckless  disre- 
J/      gard  of  the  language  of  Shakespeare  is  deemed  by  many  persons  a  distinct 
ornament,  imparting  illumination  and  realism  to  the  characterization.     Does  not 
his  accent  constantly  remind  us — as  a  provincial  critic  suggests — that  he  is  of  the 
same  race  and  land  as  the  storied  Montague  ?   He  is  "  the  real  Romeo  "—to  quote 
this  same  critic — "an   Italian  youth,  fired  with  passion  and  with  love,  handsome 
as  a  picture ;  who  could  compare  with  him  in  making  love  to  his  Juliet  ?  "     Mr.  Salvini,  however, 
has  more  valid  claims  to  popularity  than  his  tempestuous  abuse  of  the  English  language.      He 
^^     is  of  picturesque  appearance,  of  vigorous  phvsique,  and  is  endowed  with  an  obvious  wealth 
..^  ^    ^'  ^~Va      °^  spirits,  of  great  use  in  the  impersonation  of  the  romantic  and  heroic  characters  that 

"'"^^'^  he  affects.      He  is  a  man  of  education  and  culture,  too,  and  his  work  bears  the  dis- 

tinctive mark  of  intelligence,  even  if  it  betrays  the  want  of  a  nice  sense  of  proportion.  Possibly  he  might  achieve  more  refined 
and  exquisite  results  in  a  language  with  which  he  is  really  intimate.  Indeed,  I  wonder  he  has  never  tried  to  act  in  Italian  and 
in  Italy. 


—34— 


( I  rem  a  photograph  by  Kalk,  New  \  .irk  ' 


Vi' 


/f 


/ 


I  have 
had  occasion  to  refer  to  the  excel- 
lent service  rendered  by  such  an  organi- 
zation as  the  Bostonian  Opera  Company 
in  training  young  singers  and  in  en- 
'iiuraging  them,  by  fitting  advance- 
ment, toward  proper  ideals  in  their 
ng.  Elsewhere,  too.  1  have  taken 
occasion  to  point  out  the  gross  care- 
k-ssness,  on  the  part  of  critics,  public,  and 
layers,  that  suffers  much  splendid  prom- 
ise to  dissipate  in  paltry  achievement  for 
want  of  proper  instruction  and  ordering.  '^  ' 
It  is,  therefore,  a  genuine  satisfaction  to  record 
the  sincere  and  studious  career  of  Miss  Cleary, 
who  apparently  has  omitted  no  pains  to  improve 
to  the  full  whatever  inherent  qualifications  may 
have  fallen  to  her.  During  her  early  youth  in  the 
Canadian  convent  of  Notre  Dame  she  devoted  her 
chief  attention  to  musical  studies,  with  the  result 
that  in  all  the  yearly  contests  the  prizes  for  instru- 
mental music  were  awarded  her.  Upon  leaving  the 
convent  Miss  Cleary  went  to  Boston  where  she  came 
to  the  notice  of  Reuben  .Merrill,  an  esteemed  in- 
structor of  voice  culture,  who  thought  that  a  voice  of 
such  bird-like  quality  as  was  his  young  pupil's,  and  one 
which,  in  its  comparatively  undeveloped  state,  was  ca- 
pable of  such  high  notes,  merited  more  than  ordinary  at- 
tention. Eager  for  the  career  upon  which  she  had  determined,  Miss  Cleary  en- 
tered the  chorus  of  the  Boston  Ideals,  at  that  time  under  the  direction  of  the 
shrewd  and  discerning  Miss  Ober.  By  her  Miss  Cleary's  talents  were  quickly 
discovered  and  the  young  singer,  within  a  few  weeks  after  joining  the  company, 
was  given  the  role  of  Lady  Ella  in  "Patience."  When  "Victor,  the  Blue  Stocking" — a 
delightful  operetta,  in  which  Zelie  de  Lussan  was  infinitely  charming — was  produced.  Miss 
Cleary  created  the  role  of  Friquet,  a  gamin,  with  much  success — so  much,  indeed,  that  it 
required  considerable  self-will  on  her  part  to  forego  the  advantages  of  her  new  favor  and  to 
carry  out  a  purpose  she  had  always  maintained  of  studying  abroad  under  one  of  the  ap- 
proved masters  of  singing.  In  pursuit  of  this  determination  Miss  Cleary  went  to  Paris. 
u  here  she  became  a  pupil  of  the  maestro  Sbriglia.  Devotion  to  her  work  ruled  every 
moment  of  her  tutelage  with  .Sbriglia.  and  when  she  presented  herself  in  London  to  the 
manager  of  the  Savoy  Theatre  she  quickly  proved  her  capability  for  a  place  in  that  scru- 
pulous establishment.  Mr.  D'Oyly  Carte  selected  her  for  the  role  of  Gianetta.  at  that 
time  being  sung  by  Geraldine  L'lmer,  and,  according  to  some  of  the  chief  London  the- 
atrical critics,  whose  word  may  be  relied  on,  the  substitution  in  many  respects  com- 
pared favorably  with  the  original.  After  her  season  at  the  Savoy,  Miss  Cleary  returned  to 
Paris  and  once  more  resumed  her  studies,  probably  with  the  purpose  of  fitting  herself  for 
grand  opera.  Unfortunately,  however,  the  natural  limitations  of  her  voice  must  bar  her 
from  the  e.xalted  realm  to  which  she  aspires.  L'pon  returning  to  this  country  some  months  ago.  Miss  Cleary  was  at  once  en- 
gaged by  the  Bostonians  for  the  role  of  Annabelle  in  "Robin  Hood."  To  add  to  the  importance  of  the  role,  a  ballad  was 
especially  written  for  Miss  Cleary  by  Mr.  De  Koven — a  tuneful  number  particularly  fashioned  by  the  composer  for  Miss  Cleary's 
voice  and  method.  Her  voice,  as  has  been  intimated  before,  is  by  no  means  powerful ;  but  it  is  a  very  sweet  one,  and  is 
managed  with  rare  skill. 


f 


A  s.ui.ll.iul.  New  York.) 


^-^ 


0-^- 


^■ 


WALTER  JONES 


jyjESSRS.  A.  M.  PALMER  and  E.  E. 

Rice,    the    exploiters   of   the   so-styled 
burlesque,  "  1492,"  must  often  be  at  a  loss  to  de- 
termine  which    one   of    the    numerous    component 
features   of    the    entertainment    has    played    the    lar 
gest  part  in  its  extraordinary   and  unreasonable  sui 
cess.      Now    it    is    the    homely,    touching    singing 
Miss    \'aughn    that    seems    to    have    caught    the 
lasting  favor  of  the  town ;   now  the  mingled  daring 
and  daintiness  of  the  living  pictures;   now  the  curi- 
ous counterfeits  of  metropolitan   characters — police- 
man, sharper,  gamin.     i5ut  none  of  these  has  made 
so  distinct  an  impression  as   the  now  famous  tramp 
of  the  show.      His  utterly   disreputable  appearance, 
so  frankly  desperate  in  its   extremity ;  his  unfailing 
optimism  of  spirit:    his    quaint   songs  and   dances, 
combine  to  give  to  Walter  Jones's  ugly  conceit  the 
dignity   of   effective    individuality.      The   tramp   of 
"  1492."  with  his   pretentious   rags  of  doeskin,   his 
comic  assumption  of  elegance  in  the  arrangement  of 
his  frowsy  locks,  his  cracked  voice,  and  general  sug- 
gestion of  impending  physical   collapse,  and.  above 
all.  his  thoroughly  gypsy-like  philosophy,  will  doubt- 
less stand  as  the  classic   for  imitation  on  the  stage 
and  in  humorous  literature.     Walter  Jones,  the  creator 
of  this  genre  bit.  is  not  yet   twenty-four  years  old ;  but  half 
jf  his  life  has  been  occupied  in  fun  making.      When  a  boy, 
he  ran  away  from  home  to  tra\'el  with  a  circus.     For  a  year  or 
two  he  tumbled  about  in  the  ring,  covering  himself  with  sawdust 
rather  than  glory.      When  he  was  twelve  years  old  he  was  in- 
trusted with  the    responsibilities  of  a  baby  clown,   and  achieved 
such  distinction  that  his  whereabouts  became  known  to  his  family  and 
he  was  returned,  vi  et  armis,  to  the  parental  roof.      The  memory  of  his 
career  in  the  ring  was,  however,  ton  strong  for  him.  and  at  a  convenient 
opportunity   he  resumed  the  fasci-  nating  life  under  the  canvas.      Of 

his  work   in  the  theatre,   it  will      J>,      suffice  to   quote  the    following 
from  a  biographical  sketch    ,gf^^  ^W    -^      already  published  of  Mr 


ones :   Seven 
essayed   h  i  s 
niatic  part,  that 
coachman,    in    a 
e."     He  next      J 


years  ago  he 

first  dra- 

'i   an    Irish 

play   called 

joined  W. 

c  o  m  - 


A.  Mestayer's 

pany  in  "We, 
&  Co."     After  a  season  as 
"The  U.  S.  Mail,"  he  re- 
playing the  opposite  part    .,,, 
Bag."     Next    he   ap-    fe*^' 
part  with   George  Mun-    *|' 
et's  Baby."  and  the  sea-  V\ 
him   in   "The    Pulse  of     ^\-? 
he  was  kept  busy  essay-      «^  *' 
It  was  here  that  Mr. 
as  a  shrewd  discoverer 
clever  performers,  saw 
him  for  "  1492."    Mr.      _ 
in    this    burlesque    at 

New  York,  as  Ferdinand.  King  of  Spain,  and  in  the  Madison  Square  scene  he  interpolated  hi; 
characterization  that  soon  became  the  talk  of  the  town. 


Major  M  c  G  i  n  n  i  s  in 
joined  Mestayer, 
to  him  in  "  The  Grab 
peared  in  an  Irish 
roe  in  "Aunt  liridg- 
son  of  1892-3  found 
New  York,"  where 
ing  six  characters. 
E.  E.  Rice,  noted 
and  developer  of 
him  and  engaged 
Jones  first  appeared 
Palmer's  Theatre, 
tramp  specialty,  a  unique  bit  of 


^>B, 


-v^v 


all  artistic  endeavors  there  may  be  a  kind  of  artlessness  and 
a\vl<\vardness  that  is  vastly  grateful  and  refreshing,  produ- 
cing impressions  no  less  pleasing  than  those  of  practiced  skill  and 
careful  grace.      It  is  the  quality  that  gives  to  memoirs  and  personal 
correspondence  a  charm  that  the  most  scrupulous  pursuit  of  literary  form 
often  fails  to  catch.      Marie  Bashkirtseff  contrived  to  impart  that  same  quality  to  a 
picture  that  became  the  admiration  of  all   Paris  at  a  time  when  she  scarcely  knew  enough 
of  painting  to  stretch  a  canvas.      And  it  is  to  that  same  sympathetic  simplicity — for  that  is  the 
essence  of  the  charm — that  Eleanor  Mayo  owes  a  considerable  part  of  the  extraordinary  success 
that  has  attended  her  brief  career  on  the  stage.      Less  than  a  year  ago  her  name  was  quite  un- 
known in  the  world  of  the  theatre.     To-day  her  services  are  in  greater  demand  for  comic  opera 
than  those  of  any  other  American  prima  donna,  with  possibly  one  exception.     At  a  single  step, 
and  really  almost  without  effort,  she  has  reached  that  enviable  position  where  she  practically  names 
her  own  salary.     These  merely  material  facts  may  not  be  decisive  as  to  Miss  Mayo's  merits,  but  they 
are  conclusive  as  to  her  favor.      I  am  told  that  she  can  sing  well,  but  I   know  that  she  does  not.      Of 
acting  it  is  plain  that  she  knows  nothing;  but  one  should  add  in  fairness  that  Miss  Mayo  seldom  attempts  •;^, 

\     to  act.      Sometimes,  in  the  course  of  an  impassioned  number,  she  will  extend  lirst  one  arm  and  then 
O     the  other;  or  if  the  song  is  of  an  especially  emotional  nature,  she  may  extend  both  arms  together;  but 
beyond  that  her  miming  rarely  ventures.      Her  voice,  in  its.  present  state  of  cultivation,  is  by  no  means 
remarkable  except  for  a  peculiarly  soothing  timbre,  delightful  rather  than  delicious.     She  sings,  though,  in  the 
manner  of  an  untutored  dilettante,  utterly  unfamiliar,  apparently,  with  the  rudest  mechanics  of  singing.      It  is  said  that  she 
has  had  excellent  teaching ;  but  either  she  has  been  an  indocile  pupil  or  else  she  is  studiously  disregarding  the  precepts  of  her 
masters.      It  may  be  true  that  she  is  saving  her  voice — as  is  hinted  by  her  most  partial  admirers — but  that  does  not  excuse 
complete  contempt  of  such  rudiments  as  phrasing  and  clear  enunciation.     And  yet.  despite  these  palpable  failings,  Miss  Mayo 
is  winning.      Such  is  the  authority  of  ner  allurement  that  it  has  availed  to  secure  the  vogue  and  prosperity  of  an  utterly  incon- 
siderable comic  opera.     Anything  more  stupid,  trivial,  or  inchoate  than  "Princess  Bonnie"  has  seldom  lingered  on  the  boards 
after  a  fortnight's  performances:  a  hodgepodge  of  puerile  twaddle  and  pilfered  tunes.      But  for  Miss  Mayo,  this  mere  puff-ball 
of  a  comic  opera  would  have  promptly  disappeared  into  oblivion;  now,  carried  along  on  the  breath   of  her  favor,  it  floats 
serenely  into  the  dignity  of  a  hundred-night  run.      Xor  is  this  prosperous  event  due  in  any  considerable  degree  to  the  splendid 
beauty  of  Miss  Mayo.      She  is  good  to  look  at — in  more  senses  than  one:  a  Phidian  model  of  noble  lines  and  fine  coloring,  a 
really  delightful  scheme  of  drawing  and  tinting;  but  her  pulchritude  is  not  of  the  sort  to  captivate  the  general.      If,  then,  as 
we  have  seen,  the  potency  of  her  attraction  lies  not  in  her  beauty,  nor  in  her  acting — of  which  device  she  is  quite  innocent — 
nor  in  her  singing — that  least  of  all,  for  .Miss  Mayo  knows  nothing  of  the  art — it  must  be  sought  in  the  novelty  of  her  manner 
and  presence.      In  every  way  she  is  unlike  the  stage  figure  which  we  associate  with  the  idea  of  prima  donna  of  comic  opera. 

So  far  from  evincing  any  anxiety  to  please  her  audience,  to  cozen  the  acclaiming  hand.  Miss  Mayo  displays  an  obvious  in- 
difference which  I  am  quite  certain  is  genuine  and  wholly  unaffected.  I  have  observed  her  curiously  how  she  stood  in  the 
midst  of  deafening  applause  that  demanded  a  repetition  of  some  lilting  waltz  song:  glance,  mind,  heart,  apparently — of  course, 
one  can  judge  of  such  things  only  from  appearance — leagues  removed  from  the  environment.  It  may  have  been  mere  listless- 
ness,  or  inappetency,  or  the  spirit  of  the  artiste  latent  within  her  contemning  the  triviality  of  her  immediate  occupation.  Be 
the  impulse  what  it  may,  though,  the  result  was  always  completely  effective  for  charm  and  delight:  commanding  success,  even 
if  not  deserving  it.  It  were  fatuous,  however,  to  expect  these  conditions  to  endure.  There  must  come  a  time  when  even  such 
beauty  as  Miss  Mayo's  will  require  the  make-up  with  which  it  now  dispenses  with  no  disadvantage  to  its  theatrical  purposes. 
Her  manner,  too,  must  inevitably  take  on  the  make-up  of  consciousness  and  sophistication  in  the  stead  of  the  artlessness  and 
awkwardness  that  are  now  its  finest  adornment.  Then  the  world  may  well  lament  the  cruel  kindness  that  encouraged  the  sac- 
rifice of  magnificent  possibilities  to  satisfying  actualities.  Unless  I  am  greatly  in  error,  the  criticisms  passed  upon  Miss  Mayo 
during  her  current  vogue  in  Philadelphia  have  been  eulogistic  practically  without  qualification.  At  any  rate,  it  is  certain  that 
no  one  has  ventured  to  tell  her  bluntly  and  with  kind  cruelty  that  she  cannot  sing.  Upon  her  first  public  appearance  in  New 
\ork,  a  few  months  ago,  two  or  three  of  the  most  equanimous  and  authoritative  critics  of  the  metropolis  proclaimed  the  pro- 
digious possibilities  of  her  gifts,  but  warned  her  against  their  continued  employment  under  improper  guidance.  They  promised 
her  a  career  infinitely  prouder  than  that  of  a  queen  of  comic  opera  provided  her  talents  were  taught  the  way  they  should  go. 
But,  apparently,  the  laudatory  platitudes  of  others  have  prevailed  to  make  Miss  ;\Iayo  quite  content  with  herself.  It  must  be 
admitted,  too,  that  for  a  novice  to  receive  such  substantial  rewards  as  Miss  Mayo  commands  is  not  without  its  convincing  ar- 
gument. I  suppose,  in  a  communistic  society,  in  an  artistic  Utopia,  such  talents  as  hers  would  have  been  treated  as  State 
property  and  educated  accordingly  for  the  general  delectation.  In  existing  circumstances,  though,  one  can  do  nothing  but 
lament  the  probable  undoing  of  splendid  potency. 


—40 — 


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(I'rom  a  phnlii>;raph  by  Surony,  New  Viirk  ) 


^ 


AMES  A. 
HERNE. 

IF  precedence  had  any  part  in  the  order- 
ing of  this  series  of  critical  records, 
then  James  A.  Heme  should  have  a  place 
among  the  very  first  of  the  players.  For 
he  is  one  of  the  few  of  the  really  great  ac- 
tors and  artists  in  the  American  theatre. 
It  is  only  within  a  very  recent  period,  a 
shamefully  recent  period,  that  he  has  begun 
to  take  anything  approaching  his  proper 
rank  in  popular  and  critical  esteem.  For 
the  major  portion  of  his  stage  career  of 
thirty-five  years,  this  man  has  steadfastly 
pursued  all  that  is  best  in  his  calling,  and 
he  long  since  reached  a  point  sufficiently 
to  entitle  him  to  the  bravos  of  the 
vos  of  the  populace.  And  yet  for 
been  quite  outdistanced  in  the  race 
critical  consideration  by  a  score  of 
tithe  of  his  talent,  his  skill,  or  his  no- 
bility of  purpose,  though  as  much  may  not  be  said  of  their 
pretensions.  Indeed,  it  is  only  within  the  current  season  that  Mr. 
Heme  has  been  accorded  the  dignity  of  appearance  in  a  n  etropolitan  theatre 
of  the  first  class — as  that  phrase  is  generally  understood.  During  the  de- 
cadence of  the  American  theatre  that  set  in  some  ten  years  ago  Mr.  Heme 
was  as  utterly  disregarded  as  was  learning  before  the  Renascence.  Now,  deo 
gratias,  that  we  are  emerging  from  the  ignorance,  puerility,  and  crass  preju- 
dice of  that  benighted  period,  his  worth  shines  out  to  conscious  eyes.  If  1 
seem  to  write  dogmatically,  or  too  fervidly  of  this  matter,  it  is  because  it  is  a 
weariness  to  the  soul  and  an  irritation  to  the  temper  to  contrast  tlie  recep- 
tion of  this  native-born  artist  to  that  accorded  certain  mouthing  munmers 
and  pedantic  posers — the  Wilson  Barretts,  the  Willards- — whose  chief  claim 
to  distinction  was  their  foreign  nativity.  If  a  German,  or  a  French,  or  an 
English  actor  had  brought  us  characterizations  of  folk-life  in  Bavaria,  or 
Brittany,  or  Yorkshire,  such  as  Mr.  Heme  has  given  us  of  the  folk-life 
of  our  own  country,  we  should  have  hailed  the  stranger  as  a  creature  of 
inspiration  and  sent  him  home  with  letters  of  exchange  to  the  value  of  a 
fortune.  We  are  marvellously  keen  for  an  outlandish  sensation.  Had  Mr. 
Heme  devoted  himself  undividedlv  to  the  profession  of  acting,  he  might 
possibly  have  advanced  more  rapidly  and  directly  to  his  due  place  among 
his  peers.  But  his  efforts  and  achievements  in  the  domain  of  playwriting  have  dis- 
tracted general  and  critical  attention  from  his  mimetic  genius.  His  acting  in  his 
play  of  ••Shore  .Acres,"  for  example,  is  considered  quite  secondarily  to  his  work  of 
dramatic  composition,  despite  the  fact  no  plaver  of  our  time  has  created  a  more  ani- 
mate, colorful,  and  powerful  identity  than  that  of  Nathan'l  Berry.  His  fame  and  for- 
tune as  a  player  have  suffered  in  association  with  the  popular  misadventures  of  his  plays. 
'•Drifting  -Apart,"  and  "Shore  Acres"  were  so  amazingly  out  of  the  ordinary  that  the  disconcerted 
senses  of  the  spectators  could  take  no  note  of  Mr.  Heme's  individual  efforts  as  an  actor.  Now  that  a  forced  run  of  the  last 
of  these  plays,  at  a  theatre  of  the  most  fastidious  clientage,  has  aroused  the  community  to  a  realization  of  its  fine  merits,  there 
has  come  a  simultaneous  appreciation  of  Mr.  Heme's  thespian  genius. 


"Margaret  Fleming," 


(I'r.im  u  pluiliiKniiih  liy  C.illicTt  .V  llaicui,  riiiluiU-Iphia.  I'ji  I 


f.'~ 


»v^^- 


a'«> 


X 


v^ 


) 


MARIE 
WAINWRIGHT. 

XA/HEN  Mr.  Uoker's  romantic 
and  picturesque  play  of 
"  Francesca  da  Rimini"  was  produced 
some  years  since  by  the  lamented  Lawrence  Barrett — an  actor 
of  such  noble  aspirations  and  splendid  purposes  that  it  seems  the 
unkindest  of  fates  that  he  was  not  endowed  with  gifts  correspond- 
ing to  his  fine  ambitions — there  were  in  the  cast  four  players  who 
appeared  as  if  especially  designed  to  fulfill  the  author's  ideals  of  the 
chief  characters  of  his  drama.  They  were  Mr.  I>arrett  himself,  in  the 
role  of  Giovanni;  Mr.  Otis  Skinner,  as  Count  Paolo;  Mr.  Louis  James,  in  the 
character  of  the  Jester,  and,  finally.  Miss  Marie  Wainwright, 
than  whom  the  storied  Francesca  herself  could  not  have  pos- 
sessed a  more  alluring  presence  or  a  more  seductive  personal- 
itv.  Viewed  through  the  possibly  softening  vistas  of  retrospect, 
Aliss  Wainwright's  impersonation  of  the  beautiful  and  erring 
bride  of  Rimini  appears  to  me  as  one  of  the  most  exquisitely 
conceived  and  sympathetically  e.'cecuted  performances  that  has 
ever  come  within  my  experience.  If  Miss  Wainwright  has 
never  surpassed  her  achievement  in  that  notable  instance — 
indeed,  if  she  had  never  accomplished  another  effort  of 
importance  in  her  calling — she  might  still  claim  a  con- 
spicuous place  in  the  theatre  of  our  time;  just  as  the 
painter  is  entitled  to  supreme  consideration  who  adds 
one  really  great  picture  to  the  world's  gallery  of  cher- 
ished canvases,  or  the  sculptor  who  leaves  one  perfect  image 
of  his  skill,  or  the  lyrist  who  turns  one  remembered  song'. 
There  was  a  poetic  quality  in  Miss  Wainwright's  counterfeit  of 
Francesca,  a  delicacy  of  touch,  a  general  suggestion  of  sweet- 
ness and  light,  that  I  have  mi.ssed  in  her  subsequent  efforts, 
tier  Viola,  as  I  recall  it  now,  was  a  creature  of  sensuous  beauty, 
replete  with  animation  and  adventurous  spirit,  but  rather  froward 
and  hoydenish  withal,  wanting  the  gentler  sentiment  and  delicious 
melancholy  that  pervade  the  poet's  Illyrian  conceit.  It  was  at 
all  points  a  performance  of  intelligence  and  of  force,  but  it 
lacked  continuity,  atmosphere;  it  was  something  too  human 
and  material  in  its  sensual  effects.  "Twelfth  Night"  is  es- 
sentially a  gossamer-like  fancy,  a  fairy  story  of  a  land  of 
which  the  poet  knew  nothing  save  what  he  conjured  from  his 
ethereal  imagination  :  a  land  where  dwells  the  Orsino  who  feeds 
his  love  with  music  and  moons  and  sighs  upon  beds  of  Howers ; 
where  'V'ioia  hides  her  love  to  "  let  concealment,  like  a  worm  i' 
the  bud,  feed  on  her  damask  cheek  "  ;  a  land  "full  of  shapes  and 
high  fantastical."  In  such  environment,  a  Viola  spruce  and  sturdy 
as  that  of  Miss  Wainwright  seems  not  quite  at  home.  The  forest  of 
Arden  would  prove  more  congenial ;  there  she  would  twit  and  chaff  an 
Orlando  with  easier  grace  than  that  which  attends  her  .sad  humility  in  Orsino's 
love.  Miss  Wainwright  was  something  happier  in  her  impersonation  of  "Amy  Rob- 
sart."  The  merely  feminine  rather  than  poetic  tenderness  of  the  character  was  easily 
within  the  range  of  the  player's  temperamental  qualifications.  She  was  a  very  winsome  and 
womanly  Amy  rather  than  the  martyr-like  figure  of  history  or  the  melodramatic  one  of  Walter 
.Scott's  novel.  One  conceived  such  a  lively  fancy  for  Leicester's  sweetheart  that  one  rejoiced 
in  the  good  nature  and  daring  craft  of  the  playwright  who  discomfits  .Vmy's  foes  utterly  and 
assigns  her  all  the  material  joys  of  a  brilliant  and  applauded  match.  Historv  suffers  in  the  deed,  perhaps,  but  the  spectator  is 
vastly  pleased;  Miss  Wainwright's  .■\my  is  such  an  attractive  girl.  Apparently,  Miss  Wainwright  has  found  little  popular  de- 
mand for  the  drama  of  poetry  and  romance.  During  these  latter  years  of  her  career  she  has  devoted  her  efforts  to  the  imper- 
.«onation  of  what  are  styled,  in  the  argot  of  the  theatre,  society  heroines. 


I  I  «  '  '«.  ^ 


-44— 


(Kr«>m  ft  plioioj^'rnpli  by  Samny,  New  York.) 


r' 


-^ 


>*>• 


NELSON 
WHEATCROFT. 


]yjR.  WHEATCROFT  is 

an  English  actor  wlio 
has  for  the  past  eleven    years 
,      made  America  his  field  of  labor. 

For  four  years  he  was  one  of  the 
most  popular  members  of  the  Lyceum 
Theatre  stock  company  of  New  York. 
He  has  travelled  throughout  the  United 
States,  and  was   engaged   by  Charles 
Frohman  for  the  original  stock 
company    organized    for    the     % 
opening  of    the    new  Empire 
Theatre.     A  year  ago,  in  association  with 

the  management  of  that  theatre,  he  under-  .^ 

took  to  establish   an  institution  for  the 

training  of  students    for   the  dramatic 
,     profession    and    founded    the    Empire 

Theatre  Dramatic  School.      The  result  of  the  first  term  is  most  gratifying  to 
Mr.  VVheatcroft  and  Mr.  Frohman;  the  latter  has  .selected   for  important  engage- 
ments next  season  si.x  of  the  students  whose  portraits  appear  on  this  page.     This 
is  substantial   encouragement,  indeed,  and  promises  well    for   the    future  of  the 
graduates  of  Mr.  W'heatcroft's  school.     Miss  Carrie  Lavinia  Keeler  [i]  has  been 
engaged  for  the  light  comedy  part,  originally  played  by  Miss  Agnes  Miller,  in 
•'Sowing  the  Wind,"   in  which  she  will  tour  the  principal  cities  next  season. 
1   Miss   Keeler  belongs  to  New  York  city,  and  studied  for  two  years  under  Mr. 
Wheatcroft  previous  to  entering  the  Empire  Dramatic  School.      Miss  Margaret 
Moore  [2]  is  a  Canadian.    She  never  studied  for  the  stage  or  appeared  upon  the 
stage   before  entering  the    school.      She  stepped  at  once   into  the  foremost 
ranks  of  the  students.     Mr.  Frohman  has  selected  her   for  one  of  the  promi- 
nent  parts   in  his    forthcoming  revival    of   "Shenandoah."     Miss  Alice  Gordon 
Cleather  [3]  is  an  English  girl  who  has  been  in  New  York  with  her  family  for  several 
years.     She  held  a  prominent  place  in   the  New  York  Comedy  Club  until  deciding  to 
adopt  the  stage  as  a  profession   and  entered  the  Empire  School.      Next  season  she  will 
play  one  of  the  leading  characters  in  Brandon  Thomas's  comedy,   "Charley's  Aunt," 
under  the  management  of  Charles  Frohman.    Miss  Stella  Zanone  [4J  has  also  been  retained 
for  one  of  the  new  productions  to  be  made  next  season  under  the  same  management.     She 
comes   from   St.  Louis,  and   in  that  city  made  many  conquests  as  an  amateur  actress  and 
reciter  before  taking  the  course  of  training  for  the  professional  stage.     Mr.  John  Sorentz  |  5]  and  Mr.  John  P.  Whitman  16|  both 
came  from  the  West  to  try  their  fortunes  in  the  East,  with  the  enviable  success  which  a  two  years'  contract  with  Mr.  Charles 
Frohnian's  stock  company  implies.      They  have  both  played  small  parts  at  the  Empire  Theatre  during  the  season,  while  study- 
ing under  Mr.  Wheatcroft  and  his  associate  instructors.      .      .      . 

Of  the  value  to  the  profession  of  acting  of  such  an  institution  as  the  one  conducted  by  Mr.  Wheatcroft  under  the  auspices 
of  the  Empire  Theatre,  there  can  be  no  cioubt.  It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  every  pupil  graduated  from  such  a 
school  is  certain  to  win  conspicuous  success;  no  more  does  a  course  at  a  great  university  assure  for  a  youth  a  subsequent 
career  of  prosperity  and  distinction.  But  the  young  man  or  woman  who  learns  the  mechanics  of  a  calling  is  far  more  likely 
to  win  a  considerable  position  than  one  who  assumes  to  despise  the  assistance  of  such  instruction.  There  appears,  on  the 
surface,  no  reason  why  every  encouragement  should  not  be  given  Mr.  Wheatcroft  and  his  school.  In  the  absence  of  such  in- 
stitutions as  State  theatres  and  conservatories,  an  establishment  like  the  one  in  reference  may  come  to  serve  as  an  excellent 
substitute  therefor,  provided,  of  course,  that  something  more  than  a  concern  for  the  merely  material  [prosperity  of  the  enter- 
prise regulates  its  conduct.  The  writer  does  not  know  what  qualifications  are  demanded  of  candidates  for  admittance  to  the 
privileges  and  opportunities  of  the  school,  but  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  certain  due  limitations  are  imposed  in  regard  to  intel- 
ligence, sincerity  of  purpose,  and  reasonable  natural  equipment. 


-46- 


Iroili  n  i>li(it"Krupli  by  I'laU,  ChituKc,  111.1 


k 


ADELAIDE 
NEILSON. 

No  English-speaking  actress  of  modern  times  has  created  such  a  sensation  in  this  country  as  did  Adelaide  Neilson  when  she  made 
her  debut  at  Booth's  Theater,  New  York,  m  the  winter  of  1872,  as  Juliet.  Her  success  was  immediate;  the  critics  and  the 
public  accepted  her  impersonation  of  the  character  with  praise  and  enthusiasm.  "Miss  Xeilson's  Juliet,"  wrote  one  of  the 
critics,  "is  a  young,  beautiful,  passionate  Italian  girl,  impetuous  in  all  things,  proud  but  gentle,  fiery  but  tender,  capricious  but  true — 
to  whom  mere  existence  is  an  ardent  joy  and  to  whom  first  love  comes  like  a  revelation  from  heaven."  Her  Rosalind  was  judged  to 
be  perfect,  and  when  in  later  years  she  added  Viola,  Isabella  and  Imogen  to  her  repertoire,  the  critics  could  scarcely  find  words  suffi- 
ciently strong  to  express  their'adniiration  of  the  actress.  That  Adelaide  Neilson  was  an  actress  of  the  very  first  rank  I  never  thought, 
but  there  was  a  personal  fascination  about  her  which  no  other  actress  I  ever  saw,  unless  it  were  Aimee  Desclee,  possessed.  She  was 
very  beautiful,  too;  slight,  with  a  small  and  perfectly  shaped  head.  She  had  lustrous  dark  eyes  and  a  wealth  of  dark-brown  hair, 
which,  at  the  time  of  lier  death,  had  become  golden.  I  recall  as  one  of  the  most  charming  scenes  I  ever  witnessed,  Adelaide  Neilson 
walking  down  Rotten  Row  one  morning,  a  few  months  before  she  died,  between  Mrs.  I.angtry.  then  in  the  zenith  of  her  glorious 
beauty,  and  Mrs.  Cornwallis  West.  Miss  Neilson  had  just  returned  from  a  triumphant  tour  through  the  United  States,  and  was 
playing  Juliet  to  Conwav's  Romeo  to  crowded  houses.  Fashionable  London,  which  had  hitherto  neglected  her,  went  into  raptures 
over  the  fair  Neilson.  A  few  m.onths  later  her  body  lay  in  the  Paris  morgue.  She  had  gone  to  Pans  to  play  the  part  of  Nana  in 
French,  for  she  spoke  that  language  as  perfectly  as  she  did  English.  On  a  sultry  afternoon,  while  driving  through  the  Bois,  she  drank 
a  quantity  of  milk,  which  produced  spasms,  and  she  died  in  a  restaurant  in  the  park.  The  news  of  her  death  in  this  country  created  a 
tremendous  sensation  at  the  time,  showing  how  idolized  she  was  by  the  American  theater-going  public.  William  Winter  wrote  of  her 
in  the  New  York  Tribune:  "For  many  a  long  day  the  stage,  which  has  lost  forever  her  radiant  presence,  will  seem  a  desolate 
place;  and  to  those  who  knew  her  well  and  saw  the 'loveliness  of  her  disposition,  the  gentleness  of  her  spirit,  the  large  generosity  of 
her  mind,  and  the  radiance  of  cheerfulness  and  grace  that  she  diffused,  life  will  never  again  seem  as  bright  as  once  it  was."  This 
remarkable  woman  had  arisen  from  the  dregs  of  the  people  to  a  position  of  wealth  and  public  honors.  Her  mother  was  a  Yorkshire 
dressmaker  and  her  father  an  actor.  It  is  "believed  that  she  was  born  in  Saragossa,  Spain,  somewhere  about  1850.  It  appears  that 
as  a  child  she  showed  a  great  talent  for  mimicry.  Lizzie  Ann,  as  she  was  known  in  Guiseley,  worked  as  a  factory  girl,  but  avoided 
her  fellow  hands,  whom  she  treated  as  inferiors'.  She  became  a  nurse,  and  suddenly,  owing  to  some  ill-treatment  she  had  received 
from  her  stepfather,  she  disappeared  from  Guiseley.  The  next  thing  her  Yorkshire  friends  heard  of  her  was  that  she  had  appeared  in 
London  as  Juliet,  and  that  the  critics  had  compared  her  with  Rachel.      It  was  in  1872  that  she  first  visited  this  country. 


—4- 


(Trom  A  photograph  by  Sarony,  New  York.) 


-^1 


THERE   was    in  Harr>' 
Montague  just  that  same 
delightful  personality 
that   Adelaide    Neilson    pos- 
sessed.    Neither  was  great  as 
a  player,  but  each  left  a  vacant 
place  on   the  stage    that   has 
never  been  filled.     And  when 
the  news  that  JMuntague  had  died 
suddenly  of  hemorrhage  of    the 
lungs  at    San   Francisco  was   tele- 
graphed all  over  the  country,  one  might 
have  supposed  from  the  feeling  displayed  that  the  nation  had  lost  a  favorite  son  instead  of 
an  actor  who  was  a  foreigner,  and  who  had  only  been  in  this  country  for  four  years.      He 
was  idolized  by  the  women  and  beloved  by  those  men  who  knew  him.      It  used  to  be  told 
how  a  New  York  girl  had  turned  her  closet  into  a  shrine  and  burned  candles  around  his 
picture,  but  his  head  was  never  turned  by  such  adulation.      He  was  modest  and  gentle- 
manly off  the  stage  as  well  as  on.      He  had  such  a  generous,  loving,  sympathetic  disposi- 
tion, that  men  and  women,   children  and  dogs  all  took  to  him    by  instinct.     He    loved 
art  as  well  as  sport;  would  go  into  raptures  over  a  fine  picture,  and  was  in  his  seventh 
heaven  when  on  a  yacht  with  a  piping  breeze.     No  one  enjoyed  a  joke  more  than  he,  and 
in  a  romp  he  was  a  perfect  boy.      It  was  he  that  organized  the  Lambs'  Club  of  New  York, 
with  the  purpose  of  attracting  members  of  the  dramatic  profession,  artists  and  other  sym- 
pathetic natures,  and  to-day  his  name  is  kept  there  in  loving  memory.      As  a  boy  he  was 
intended  for  the  church,  his  father  being  a  clergyman  of  the  established  Church  of  Eng- 
land, who  had  a  livmg  in  Cheshire.     There  Montague,  whose  true  name  was  Henry  John 
Mann,  was  born  m  January,  1843,  and  as  he  died  in  .^.ugust  1878,  he  was  not  thirty-si.\  years  old 
at  the  time  of  his  death.      But  the  lad  did  not  care  to  become  a  clergyman,  so  he  entered  a  bank- 
ing house  in  London.        Dion   Boucicault  seeing  him  play  in  some  private  theatricals  advised  him 
to  go  on  the  stage,  and  while  awaiting  to  find  him  an  opportunity  to  make  his  debut,  appointed  him 
his  private  secretary.     Under  the  name  of  H.  J.  Montague  he  appeared  at  Drury  Lane  as  the  Minister 
in  "Jennie  Deans."     He  was  then  twenty  years  of  age,  exceedingly  good-looking  and  exhibited  a 
fair  amount  of  talent.     He  made  a  slight  hit' in  "For  Her,"  which  led  to  his  being  engaged  at  the 
Trince  of  Wales' Theater,  by  the  Bancrofts.      Here  he  acted  in  "  Play  "  and   "  School"  and  some- 
times as  George  D'Alroy  in  "Caste."     He  left  the  Bancrofts  to  'oecome  a  co-partner  with  James  and 
Thorne  at  the  \'audeville.     His  most  successful  role  was  Jack  \Vyatt  in  Abbey's  "Two  Roses,"  in  which 
performance  Henry  Irving  made  his  first  London  hit  as  Digby  Grand.     Montague  made  a  most  delightful 
lover  as  Jack  Wyatt,  and  for  two  seasons  he  toured  the  English  provinces  with  the  play.      Then  he  be- 
came manager  of  the  Globe  Theater  in  London,  but  his  management  did  not  prove  a  financial  success.      In 
1874  he  came  to  New  York  to  try  his  luck,  but  he  had  procured   no  engagement  in  advance.      Dion  Bouci- 
cault introduced  him  to  Lester  Wallack,  and  he  made  his  first  appearance  in  Byron's  "  Partners  for  Life.  "  His 
--.      fresh,  easy,  unconventional  acting  was  something  new  to  New  Yorkers,  and  he  at  once  established  himself  as 
<.'^      a  favorite.     Then  came  "  The  Romance  of  a  Poor  Young  Man,"  which  added  to  his  success,  and  the  "  Shaugh- 
.  raun,"  which  crowned  it.      He  was  paid  $1,000  a  week  to  accompany  Boucicault,  with  the  "  Shaughraun,"  to 

San  Francisco.  It  was  two  days  before  the  close  of  his  engagement  there  that  he  died.  Few  actors  have  enjoyed  such  popularity 
as  did  Harry  Montague  during  the  few  years  he  was  in  this  country.  His  social  success  was  as  great  as  his  success  before  the  foot- 
lights, and  he  counted  almost  as  many  friends  in  the  drawing-rooms'of  fashionable  New  York  as  he  did  admirers  among  the  frequenters 
of  Wallack  s  Theater.  There  was  about  him  a  quiet  charm  and  a  gentleness  of  manner  that  proved  an  open  sesame" in  circles  where 
men  of  his  profession  seldom  penetrated  in  those  days. 

—6— 


(Kroin  a  phtilonnipli  by  Sunuiy.  New  Yi»rl(.) 


X 


-C 


V.'«'>'/.' 


"_«K5i*"vr7-;7- 


%rf»! 


N^y^      ^Ki^X 


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(/ 


\* 


:i 


j^ 


^:->'  ^4/i 


T 


BESSIE 
TYREE. 

HERE    is    no 

young  actress  on 
the  American 
stage  to-day  who  gives    better 
promise   of   doing   good    things 
than  Miss  Bessie  Tyree.     It  is  to  be 
hoped  that  the  success  she  has  met  with 
in  her  early  dramatic  career  will  not  mal<e 
.  her  careless,  for  nature  has  endowed  her 
with  remarkable  talent  as  a  coiiicdienne ; 
but  it  is  only  by  means  of  cultivation  and 
hard  work  for  many  years  to  come  that  Miss 
Tyree  can  hope  to  reach  such  a  point  of  per- 
fection as  mortals  are  permitted  to  attain.     She 
has  one  disadvantage — that  is  an  unpleasant 
voice.      If  she  could  only  learn  to  talk  through 
/wr  iiost' — we  use  the  e.xpression  advisedly,  for 
the  so-called  "nasal  twang  "  is  the  result  of  not 
asing  the  nostrils,  as  anyone  can  discover  for  him- 
self by  closing  his — no  American  actress  would 
be  better  equipped  than  she.      We  do  not  un- 
derstand why  actors  should  not  consider  it  as 
necessary    to    cultivate   the    speaking   voice   as 
singers   do   the  singing   voice.      It  was   in  the 
"Amazons"  as  Lady  Thomasin  Betturbet.  commonly 
known  as  "  Lord  Tommy,"  and  the  most  lively  of  Lady  Castle- 
jordan's  three  daughters,  that  Aliss  Tyree  made  her  first  con- 
spicuous and  artistic  hit.      Not  only  did  she  look  well  and  disport 
herself  gracefully  in  costumes  which  a  year  ago,  before  the  bicycle 
craze  had  set  in,  were  stiange  to  our  eyes,  but  she  played  the  part 
with  such  a  saucy  air  and  with  so  much  skill  that  a  role  which,  in 
the  hands  of  most  actresses,  would  have  become  exceedingly  vulgar, 
was  made  by  Miss  Tyree  one  of  the  principal  hits  of  a  thoroughly  re- 
fined performance.     It  was  a  rare  bit  of  luck  that  the  young  lady,  who 
had  had  so  short  a  stage  experience,  should  be  cast  for  such  a  part  in 
so  good  a  play  and  at  so  prominent  a  theater  as  the  Lyceum  (New  York). 
She  proved  herself  deserving  of  it.     Miss  Tyree,  who  is  of  Scotch  descent, 
is  a  \'irginian  by  birth,  and  all  her  early  associations  were  those  of  the 
peaceful  home-life  of  the  South.     Circumstances  made  it  necessary  that  she 
should  earn  her  own  livelihood,  and  she  adopted  the  theatrical  profession  in 
preference  to  becoming  a  governess.      She  studied  for  a  time  at  Franklin  Ser- 
geant's dramatic  school  in  New  York  and  then  obtaineil  an  engagement  as  an 
"'-■  understudy  in  the  stock  company  of  the  Lyceum,  of  which  she  has  ever  since 

been  a  member.  Her  first  part  was  Phyllis  in  the  "Charity  Ball,  "in  which 
play  she  also  took  the  role  of  Bess.  This  part  she  played  for  ten  months,  and 
it  proved  her  versatility,  for  the  two  roles  are  diametrically  opposed  to  one  an- 
as a  girl  of  thirteen,  then  she  was  seen  as  Lucille  in  ■■  The  Wife."  The  limit  of  space 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  for  the  last  four  years  Miss  Tyree  has  appeared 


Other.     In  "  Merry  Gotham  "  she  appeared 

will  not  permit  of  our  mentioning  all  the  parts  she  has  played. 

in  nearly  all,  if  not  all,  the  Lyceum  stock  company's  productions,  and  has  never  done  but  well 


— S- 


(Kriiin  a  photoKf"!'''  ^y  ''■'"''  "^^^  ^'"^■> 


t 


>w 


LE  MOYNE. 


THE  \v  r  i  t  e  1'  s  of  good 
plays  —  plays  that  will 

have  more  than  ephemeral  existence — do  not  shape  their  stories  for  an 

individual  man  or  woman.      They  are  written  to  develop  certain  ideas,  and  one 

-.»       of  the  ways  of  developing  ideas,  is  by  portraying  human  thoughts  and  feelings 

in  their  relation  to  the  events  of  time.     That  makes  the  play.     The  actor  who 

would  act  the  play  must  understand  the  thoughts,  must  understand  the  feelings,  and 

must  not  be  content  uith  the  mere  outward  signs  of  them ;  that  is,  he  must  be  an 

actor  and  not  a  mimic.     In  the  order  of  nature,   thoughts  come  first;  expression 

second.     So  it  is  in  the  art  of  the  actor.     He  must  have  thoroughly  studied  what 

are  the  thoughts  of  the  character  he  is  playing  before  he  can  give  proper  expression 

to  that  character's  emotions.      Art  is  so  long  that  few  plavers  can  attain  perfection 

in  this  before  they  have  reached  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf.      But  the  young  actors  of 

..^^^^•^^^^^^,  -J—   »•    .»,  to-day,  with  few  exceptions,  as  Richard  Mansfield.  Robert  Taber  and  Wilton  Lack- 

( II^^H^^^K^^K  jl^^V  W''-..V       aye,  do  not  even  attempt  to  study  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  their  characters.      How 

B\  u  ^^^K^^^^^HjI^MHr  z^.,^}      then,  can  they  expect  to  attain  such  perfection  in  their  art  as  has  been  reached  by  that 

consummate  artist,  Mr.  John   Le  Moyne,  who  has  been  doing  this  for  over  forty  years  ? 
Of  course  Mr.  Le  Moyne  had  the  advantage  over  the  younger  player  of  having  to  act  in 
one  season  as  many  different  roles  as  the  latter  may  in  a  whole  lifetime;  but  with  all  his 
experience  he  is  to-day  as  careful  a  student  of  what  we  have  already  stated  to  be  essential 
to  an  actor  as  he  was  in  the  heyday  of  his  youth.      During  that  youth  he  played  with  such 
stars  as  Forrest  and  Charlotte  Cushman.  who  managed  their  own  rehearsals,  so  that  the 
members  of  stock  companies  had  as  their  instructors  all  the  great  players  of  the  country  in  turn. 
Uid  he  will  tell  you  how  he  has  played  every  part  in  "  Hamlet  "  except  the  title  role  and  Laertes,  for 
understudies  were  unknown,  and  a  member  of  the  company  not  in  the  current  cast  was  liable  at 
moment  to  be  called  upon  to  fill  any  kind  of  a  role.      .Mr.  Le  Moyne,  as  his  name  implies,  is  of  French 
descent.      He  was  bom  in  Boston  in   1831.      He  made  his  first  professional  appearance  at  Portland. 
Me.,  in  1852  as  the  First  Officer  in  the  "  Lady  of  Lyons."     For  a  short  tirne  he  was  playuig  old  men's 
parts  at  the  Troy  Museum,  and  then  traveled  through  the  countrv   with  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  in 
,     ,  _^   -       which  he  played  the  role  of  Deacon  Perry,  a  character  that  was  written  especially  for  him.     He  was  a 

^^^, ..  -      /""^J       member  of  the  Boston  Howard  Athensum  Company  when  the  war  broke  out.      He  obtained  a  commis- 

sion m  the  Twenty-eighth  Massachusetts  Regiment  and  was  a  captain  at  the  battles  of  James  Island, 
Sjcond  Bull  Run,  Chantilly  and  South  Mountain.  In  the  last  he  was  severely  wounded,  and  being  incapa- 
citated for  further  service  was  honorablv  discharged.  He  returned  to  the  stage  and  in  1S71  appeared 
at  the  old  Fifth  .Avenue  Theater,  New  York,  under  the  management  of  .Aujiustin  Daly.  He  returned 
to  Boston  for  three  seasons  and  then  permanently  settled  in  Xew  York,  first  playing  at  the  L^nion  Square, 
then  with  Daly's,  for  five  seasons  at  the  Madison  Square,  and  he  has  now  closed  his  fifth  season  at  the 
Lyceum.  You  will  not  find  in  Mr.  Le  Moyne.  as  you  are  liable  to  find  in  most  of  his  brother  actors, 
a  man  who  can  talk  of  nothmg  else  save  the  mummer's  art,  and  especially  his  own  achievements  in  it.  He  avoids  "shop,"  and, 
like  a  true  man  of  the  world,  prefers  to  discuss  the  persons  who  are  shaping  history;  books  and  the  men  who  write  them.  He  is  a 
charming  companion,  vvhose  society  is  much  sought  after  by  men  and  women  of  cultivated  tastes,  and  still  retains  the  buoyancy  of  youth 
in  bearing  and  in  thought. 


'ERV  remarkable  old  lady  is  Mrs.  Gilbert,  who,  in  spite  of  the 
seventy-four  years  that  have  passed  over  her  head,  is  as  sprightly 
as  a  young  girl  in  conversation,  and  if  of  late  she  has  grown 
bent  in  figure,  moves  along  the  crowded  streets  easily  and  without 
assistance.     On  the  stage  she  is  as  rollicking  as  ever  in  Daly's  farces 
1^         and  shows  no  sign  of  her  increasing  years.     In  New  York  she  is  a 
^        personage,  for,  for  thirty-one  years  she  has  held  sway  over  the  hearts 
"         of  its  people,  young  and  old,  and  New  Yorkers  claim  her  as  their  own. 
She  remains  to-day  what  John  Brougham  called  her  a  long  time  ago,  "a 
bundle  of  spasms."     She   is  never  at  rest  on  the   boards,  though  she   is 
artistic  enough  never  to  spoil  the  picture   by  her  restlessness  nor  to  attract 
attention  to  her  performance  to  the  detriment  of  the  other  players.    She  is  always 
very  funny,  and  her  fun  is  never  other  than  intelligent.      Even  in  the  most  serious 
subjects  she  appears  bound  to  place  a  cotiiic  feature,  so  bubbling  is  she  with  spirits. 
Her  sense  of  humor  is  the  same  as  Dickens'  was,  and  so  great  an  admiration  has  she 
for  the  author,  that  she  reads  right  through  his  works  once  every  twelve  months  and  has 
done  so  for  many  years  past.     Withal,  she  is  the  very  essence  of  naturalness,  and,  when 
she  makes  a  quaint  remark,  one  would  imagine  she  had  been  saying  nothing  else  all  her 
life.      Mrs.  Gilbert  was  born  in   Rochdale,  Lancashire,  England,  in  1S21.      Her  maiden 
name  was  Hartley.     She  made  her  [lebut  as  a  dancer,  and  in  1846  married  Mr.  Gilbert, 
who  belonged  to  the   same  profession.      Three  years  later  the  Gilberts  came  to  this 
country  and  she  made  her  American  debut  as  a  fairy  in  "The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth," 
at  Milwaukee.    While  they  were  playingat  the  Cleveland  Theater  in  1857,  Mrs.  Gilbert 
made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  cease  to  become  a  liivisftist'  and  turn  her  attention  to 
making  herself  an  actress.     One  of  her  first  parts  was  that  of  Lady  Creamlev  in  "A  Serious 
Family."     She  made  her  first  New  York  appearance  as  the  Baroness  in  '•  Finesse  "  at  the 
Olympic  Theater.     She  then  went  to  the  old  Broadway  Theater.     As  the  Schoolmarm  in 
Brougham's  "Pocahontas"  she  made  a  great  hit.     When  "Caste"  was  first  produced  in 
New  York  she  acted  the  role  of  the  Marchioness  so  effectively  as  to  make  it  one  of  the  features 
of  the  piece.       Then  Mrs.  Gilbert  joined  Augustin  Daly's  company  and  has  remained  with  it  evet 
since.     Indeed,  Daly's  without  Mrs.  Gilbert  would  seem  as  strange  as  Daly's  without  Ada  Rehan  or  "  Jimmie  "  Lewis. 


I  I'n.in  ii  pin -I. (graph  by  Sarony,  New  York.) 


He  was  in  Daly 
accepted  Mr.  A 


's  company  for  a  brief  period 
M.  Palmer's  offer  to  play  Svengali 


LACK  A  YE. 

HEN  it  was  announced  that  Paul   Potter  would 
dramatize  "Trilby,"  the  critics  all  over  the  Eng- 
lish-speaking   world,    including    those    of    New 
York,    Kalamazoo   and    t)skosh,   and    Mr.   Clement    Scott  of 
-"  London  town,  rose  up  in  their  wrath  and  denounced  him  as 

the  desecrator  of  a  subject  that  had  become — in  this  country  at 
least — almost  a  religious  cult.     How  Mr.  Potter  recognized  a  greater 
dramatic  possibility  in  .Svengali  than    in  Trilby,  made  a  play  which 
may  bring  more  to  Du  Manner's  exchequer  than  his  novel  will,   and 
how    the  critics    were  turned    into  modern   Balaams,   is  ancient   history, 
me  add  this  anecdote  to  Trilbyania:     I  met  Mr.  Potter  just  after  one  of 
the  early  rehearsals  of  his  play.      He  was  enthusiastic  over  the  Svengali.      "The 
man  does  not  play  it  as  the  majority  of  stage  villains  would.      There  is  nothing 
cringing  about  his  villain.      AH  through  the  play  Svengali  shows  himself  conscious 
of  his  superiority  over  those  around  him.      When  he  says  '  I  am  Svengali ! '   he  is 
great."     It  was    Wilton  Lackaye  who  made    this  impression  on  the    dramatist. 
That  the  public  should  have  been   surprised  at  Mr.  Eackaye  making  such  a  suc- 
cess in  the  part  only  proves  that  the  public  has  a  short  memory.     His  Duroc  in 
aul  Kauvar"  was  original  in  that  it  differed  entirely  from   the  old-fashioned 
stage  villain.      It  was  at  the  time  accepted  as  one  of  the  best  bits  of  stage  villainy 
ever  seen  in  this  country.      But  Mr.  Lackaye  has  won  his  spurs  in  other  than 
villains'  parts.     As  Demetrius  in   "A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  which  he 
played  in  Chicago  during  the  summer  of  iSSS,  as  Gilchrist  in  "  Bootle's  Baby," 
he  was  excellent,  while  as  Jefferson  Stockton  in  ".Aristocracy,"  he  made  a  sym- 
pathetic success  out  of  a  role  written  with  exaggeration.     And  this  records  but  a 
few  of  his  hits.     Born  in  Virginia,  near  Washington,  on  September  30,   1862, 
Mr,  Lackaye  graduated  at  the  Georgetown   L'niversity,      His   earliest  ambition 
was  to  become  a  priest,  but   he  deserted  theology    for   law,    only  to  tind  that 
Blackstone  suited  him   no  better   than  Thomas  Aquinas.      He  had   tried  his 
hand  at  private  theatricals  in  Washington,   and  when  the  late   Lawrence 
Barrett  offered  him  an  engagement  in   1883,  he  accepted  it.      His  first  op- 
portunity in  New  York  came  when  he  played  Robert  le  Diable  in  Admiral 
Porter's  "  Allan  Dare."    In  that  role  he  made  his  hrst  "  palpable  hit."    His 
next  was  as  Duroc,  and  then  as  Saviani  in  "Jocelyn"  he  made  yet  another, 
has  been  a  member  of  the  Lyceum  company  and  had  been  engaged  to  "star"  when  he 


-14- 


it  "l>yriKliI,  i^'(s,  !'>■  >.ii>'iiy.   New  \i 


MARIE 
BURROUGHS. 

ISS  LILLIE  ARRINGTON,  of  San  Francisco, 
was  yet  in  her  teens  '.vhen  she  became   stage- 
striiclc.     Her  ambition  to  become  an  actress  was 
received  with  the  maternal  frown,   but  it  did  not  pre- 
vent Miss  Arrington  from  playing  Juliet  to  an  imagi- 
nary Romeo  and  Pauline  to  a  Claude  Melnotte  com- 
posed of  air.     One  day  she  was  practising  Juliet's 
appeal  to  Tybalt,   "Stay,  Tybalt,  stay!"     She  re- 
peated the  words  again  and  again,  and  got  so  excited  trying 
to  impress  upon  a  sand-hill  the  proper  force  of  the  lines,  that 
she  did  not  notice  that  an  old  carpenter  was  at  work  close  at  hand 
he  shouted  out,  ••  Oh !  give  Tybalt  a  rest !  "     This  did  not  dis- 
courage her,  for  a  short  time  afterward,  when  the  late   Lawrence 
Barrett  visited  San  Francisco,  she  paid  him  a  visit  and  told  him  of  her 
determination  to  become  an  actress.     She  recited  the  curse  scene  from 
the  Forsaken."  and  the  result  was  that  Mr.  Barrett  got  her  an  engage- 
ment at  the  Madison  Square  Theater,  New  York,  tlien  under  the  mar{agement 
of  Dr.  Mallory.     There  she  made  her  debut  under  the  name  of  Marie  Bur- 
roughs as  Gladys  in  •'  The  Rajah,"  and  her  success  was  instantaneous- — more,  how- 
ever, the  result  of  good  looks  than  of  good  acting.      Her  next  appearance  was 
as  Irene  in  "Alpine   Roses."     She  was  still  a  raw  amateur,  earning  only  ten 
dollars  a  week,  but   Dr.  Mallory  thought  he  detected  talent  in  her,  and  placed   her 
in  the  charge  of  Mr.  Louis  Massan,  who  first  gave  her  lessons  in  the  art  of  play- 
ing and  then  married  her.      When  "Elaine"  was  produced  in  1887  at  the  Madi- 
son Square  under  the  management  of  Mr.  A.  M.  Palmer,  Miss  Burroughs  ap- 
peared as  Queen  Guinevere.      She  was  specially  adapted  to  this  part,  and 
with  her  rich  dark  beauty,  made  a  striking  contrast  to  the  pale,  spiritual- 
looking  Annie  Russell,  who  took  the  role  of  Elaine.     When  Mr.  Palmer  as- 
sumed the  management  of  the  theater  he  renewed  the  engagement  of   Miss  Bur- 
roughs for  leading  and  juvenile  parts.      She  appeared  in  "Saints  and  Sinners" 
and  other  plays  with  some  success.     But  it  was  not  until  the  arrival  in  this  country 
of  Willard,  the  English  actor,  that  Miss  Burroughs  really  showed  what  was  in  her. 
As  Mary  Blenkhorn  in  "The  Middleman  "  and  as  ^■ashti  Dettrick,  the  factory  girl 
in  "  Judah,"  she  astonished  her  friends  with  the  improvement  she  had  made  in  her 
art.      She    also    played  with  Mr.   Willard  Kate  Norbury  in   "John  Needham's 
Double,"    and    Lucy  White  in   "The  Professor's    Love  Story."     It    was  un- 
„  fortunate  for  Miss  Burroughs  that  those  friends  were  so  indiscriminate  in  their 

praise,  for  it  determined  the  young  lady  to  join  the  army  of  stars,  and  a  very 
excellent  leading  lady  was  lost  to  the  stage.  With  Pinero's  "  Profligate  "  she 
has  met  during  the  past  season  with  considerable  success.  .Some  evil  genius  ap- 
pears to  have  inspired  her  with  the  idea  that  she  was  destined  to  step  into  Kate 
'Bateman's  shoes,  and  she  played  "Leah."  It  was  a  dreadful yfijjrt;.  However,  Miss  Marie  Burroughs  is  now  accepted  as  one  of  the 
■leading  actresses  of  the  American  stage.  That  she  will  ever  rank  among  the  greatest  actresses  of  the  world,  not  even  her  most  de- 
voted admirers  can  expect,  but  she  is  so  painstaking  and  so  devoted  to  her  profession  that  with  each  succeeding  season  she  shows 
■some  improvement  in  her  art. 

—  16— 


ERE  it  possible  to  have  in  this 
country  a  dramatic  school  on  the 
lines  of  the  Paris  Conservatoire.  Mr. 
E.  M.  Holland  wotild  assuredly  be  one  of  the  lead- 
ing professors.     If  aspirants  to  dramatic  laurels  would 
carefully   study    Mr.   Holland's    artistic    methods,    they 
could  receive  liberal  education  in  the  art  of  acting;  their  ob- 
servations, if  intelligent,  would  go  a  long  way  to  make  up  for  the 
want  of  a  public  conservatory.      It  was  in  stock  companies 
that  Mr.  Holland  learned  his  art.  and  a  member  of  a  stock 
company  he  has  always  remained.      If  there  were  such  a 
thing   as  a  born  actor,  he   would  have  been  one,  for  he  is 
the  son  of  the  late  George   Holland,   the  light  comedian 
whose  death  in  1870  was  felt  by  all  theatergoers  in  this 
country  as  a  personal  loss.      His  great  grandfather, 
Charles  Holland,  was  an  admired  actor  in   London 
in  the  days  of  David  Garrick,  and  his  grandfather 
was  a  valuable  member  of  the  Urury  Lane  com 
pany  during  the  Elliston  sway.     Mr.  Holland, 
therefore,   inherited  the  right  to  become   an 
actor.       But     Dion     Boucicault    once    very 
truly  said  :   "  No  man  is  a  born  actor,  yet 
he  may  be  born  to  be  an  actor  if  he  stud- 
ies hard  enough  and  long  enough."     Mr. 
Holland  was  born  in  Xew  York  in  1848. 
and  commenced  his  theatrical  life  in  1.S63 
as  a  call-boy  at  Mrs.  John  Wood's  Olym- 
pic rheater  on  Broadway,  New  York.      In 
1 866  he  went  to  Barnum's  Museum,  where 
he  played  small  parts,  and  in  the  following 
year  was  engaged  as  a  member  of  Lester  Wal- 
lack's  stock  company.      For  thirteen  consecutive 
seasons  Mr.    Holland    was    associated   with   all  the 
celebrated  artists  with  whom  Lester  Wallack  surrounded 
himself.      He  joined  the  .^L^dison  Square  company  in  1S82, 
under  Daniel  Frohman,  and  continued  with  it  under  A.  ^L  Palmer, 
.•ith  whom  he  has  remained  up  to  the  present  time. 


-i,S- 


M 


com 
coiintrv  and  in  London  in 


ISS  ANNIE   MYERS 
is.    properly,    Mrs. 
Myers ;  but  for  some  rea- 
son managers  of  comic  opera  do  not 
like  their  prima  donnas  to  appear  on 
the  bills  as  married,  even  if.  as  in 
the  case  of  Miss  Myers,  the  lawful 
husband  is  a  member  of  the  company. 
Miss  Myers  was  born  Jarbeau.      Baltimore 
was  her  birthplace,  and  she  comes  of  French 
descent.    While  yet  in  her  teens.  Miss  Annie 
Jarbeau  became  the  wife  of  .Mr.  Henry  Myers, 
a  Baltimore  lawyer.    One  day  Mr.  Myers  threw 
up  his  law  practice  to  accept  a  good  position  in 
1  bank;   but.  unfortunately,  the  bank   failed  to 
■;eep  its  promise.    Mr.  Myers  found  himself  with 
a  pretty  young  wife,  a  baby  and  no  chance  of 
finding  anything  to  do.     A  good-natured  oper- 
atic manager  hearing  of  his  plight  and  knowing 
he  had  a  good  voice,  offered  him  a  position  in 
the  chorus  of  a  traveling  company.     He  had  to 
accept  it.     Mrs.  Myers  and  the  baby  came  to 
the  depot  to  see  him  off.  and  m  the  manner  of 
young  wives  she  broke  into  sobs  when  the  mo- 
ment  for  parting   came.      The   kind-hearted 
opera  manager,    who  was  our  old   friend. 

"Charlie"  Ford,  finding  the  reason  of       "^ 
this  How  of  tears,  told  Mrs.  Myers  to  dry 
them  up  and  that  he  would   look  after 
her  and  the  baby  if  she  would  only  come 
'         along.      A  few  hours  later  the  two  were  in 
.^-^  hot  pursuit  of  the  opera  company;  and  that 

V^  j        is  how  .Annie  Myers  started  to  become  a 

5^;"  I        prima  donna.      She  had  played  before  in 

private  theatricals — and  had  even  played 
Hebe  in  "Pinafore."     With  the  Ford 
company  she  first  played  a  small   part 
in   the  "  .Mascot, "  and  then  obtained 
small  parts  with  other  companies.     It 
was  not  till  she  met  the   late  Colonel 
McCauU  that  she  had  a  chance  of  doing 
something.      At  that  time  she  was  play- 
ing the  role  of  the  old  nurse.  Martha,  in 
"  Faust,"  at  Baltimore.      The  Colonel  was 
so  pleased  with  her  voice  that  he  at  once 
engaged   her.      Miss   Myers   opened   with 
the  McCaull  opera  company  at  Pittsburg 
in   iSSj.   playing   Puebla  in  "Don   Ca?sar." 
It   was   her   first   hit  and  placed   her  among  the  queens 


^<,. 


of  the  .'American 
ir  opera  stage.     She  afterward  joined  Miss  Lillian  Russell's  company  and  made  a  great  hit  both  in  this 
rile  Ouecn  of  the  Brilliants." 


/ 


\ 


\ 


W' 


'^\m^ 


FER- 


GUSON. 


Ox  that  fateful  night 
of  April  14,  I1S65. 
.1, 


i 


-^ 


the  subject  of  our 
sketch  was  playing  a  minor  part  in  "Our  American 
Cousin,"  at  Ford's  Theater,  Washington.  Young  Fer- 
guson— he  was  but  a  lad  at  the  time,  a  call-boy  who  had  at 
the  last  moment  been  called  upon  to  till  the  place  of  an  absentee — 
was  standing  with  Laura  Keene  in  the  wings,  directly  opposite  the 
President's  box,  when  \\ilkes  Booth  tired  the  bullet  that  killed  Abraham  Lincoln.  The  sound  of  the 
shot,  he  will  tell  you,  did  not  attract  his  attention  much,  for  he  thought  that  probably  the  property 
man  was  firing  off  some  of  the  pistols  used  on  the  stage  in  an  alley  behind  the  theater.  But  the 
crash  of  the  fall  of  John  Wilkes  Booth  on  the  stage  a  second  or  two  later  caused  him  to  look  round. 
/  "-  Booth,  whom  i\lr.  Ferguson  knew  personally  and  therefore  recognized,  was  kneeling  on  the  stage. 
f  Before  anybody  could  realize  what  had  happened  he  had  rushed  past  Miss  Keene  and  the  young  actor  and 
out  of  the  stage  door.  Mr.  Ferguson  will  tell  you,  that  so  far  as  he  can  recollect.  Booth,  as  he  jumped  on 
the  stage  did  not  cry  out  "  Sic  scmpa-  iyrainiis."  But  this  fiction  of  history  will  probably  never  die.  In 
187 1,  Mr.  Ferguson  became  a  member  of  Conway's  stock  company  at  the  Park  Theater,  Brooklyn,  and  two 
years  later  he  was  engaged  by  Lester  Wallack,  with  whose  famous  company  he  remained  for  a  long  time.  ' 
When  "Colonel  Sellars "  was  produced,  Mr.  Ferguson  created  the  role  of  Clay  Hawkins.  In  "The 
Mighty  Dollar"  he  played  the  part  of  Lord  Cairngorm  in  the  original  cast.  He  then  introduced  a  character, 
now  very  familiar  on  the  American  stage,  but  in  those  davs  altogether  unknown — that  is  the  tramp.  This 
I's  "  Fairfax."  About  this  time  Mr.  Henry  .Abbey  established  his  stock  company  at  the  Park  Theatre,  New 
York.  In  the  company  were  Mr.  Ferguson  and  James  Lewis,  now  of  Daly's,  who  shared  the  comedy  parts,  and  .Agnes  Booth.  In 
the  early  days  of  the  Madison  Square  Theater,  Steele  Mackaye  engaged  Mr.  Ferguson  for  comedy  roles,  and  he  played  the  part  of 
Pittacus  Green  in  "Hazel  Kirke."  In  "Called  Back"  at  the  Fifth  .Avenue  Theater  he  took  the  role  of  the  Italian  Macari  and  made 
a  great  hit.  He  was  the  original  Mortimer  in  "Beau  Brummel."  Over  a  year  ago  he  was  engaged  by  Charles  Frohman.  In  "Charlie's 
Aunt  "  he  made  another  "palpable  hit"  as  the  amorous  lawyer,  and  in  "The  Fatal  Card"  he  has  been  equally  successful  as  a  villain. 


f^ 


was  in  Bartley  Campbell 


.,  -r^^  '|4.  -^^   - 


KATE    CLAXTOX, 

MISS  CLAXTOX   made  her 
first  appearance  (in  the  stage 
in  Chicago  with   Lotta's  com- 
pany.    Ill  the  fall  of  1S70  she  appeared 
under  the  management  of  Augustin  Daly  at 
the  Fifth  Avenue  Theater,  Xew  York,  in  the 

play  of  ".Man  and  Wife."     She  failed  to  attract  much  attention,  except 
when  playing  the  part  of  Sebastian  to  the  \'iola  of  Miss  Agnes  Ethel  in 
"Twelfth  Xight."     The  resemblance  of  the  two  was  so  great  that  .Miss  Cla.xton 
often  received  the  ovation  intended  for  the  other  lady.    After  spending  two  years 
and  a  half  with  Mr.  Daly's  company.  Miss  Claxton  went  to  the  Union  Square 
Theater,  then  under  the  management  of  Mr.  A.  M.  I'almer,  and  the  home  of  a 
brilliant  stock  company.      The  first  hit  Miss  Claxton  made  was  in    1873,  when  she 
played  the  role  of  Mathilde  in  "Led   Astray."     But  it  was  in  1S74,  as  Louise,  the 
blind  girl,  in  the  "Two  Orphans,"  that  .Miss  Claxton  made  tlie  great  success  of  her 
dramatic  career.      It  was  her  first  emotional  part.      She  was  playing  that  role  in  the 
Brooklyn  Theater  on  the  night  of  December  5,  1876,  when  the  theater  was  burned 
down.      About  three  hundred  members  of  the  audience  lost  their  lives,  and  two  of  the 
company  were  also  killed.      Miss  Claxton  showed  a  great  deal  of  coolness  in  her  elTorts  to  quiet 
the  audience  and  to  prevent  the  rush  to  the  doors.      She  barely  escaped  with  her  own  life,  and 
was  terribly  bruised  in  the  struggle  to  get  out  of  the  theater.      The  story  of  the  fire  and  of  Miss  Cla.x- 
ton's  narrow  escape  was  of  course  widely  discussed  all  over  the  country,  and  the  young  actress  became 
the  popular  player  of  the  day.      It  was  an  evil  day  for  Miss  Claxton's  chances  as  an  artiste.      The 
vogue  she  gained  by  this  adventitious  advertisement  of  her  Louise  betrayed  her  into  believing  that 
her  forte  lay  in  emotional  parts,  and  she  has  been  playing  them  ever  since,  becoming  more  whimper- 
ing and  whining  with  each  successive  role.      As  a  light-comedy  actress  she  showed  such  promise  in 
her  early  days  that  it  is  a  pity  she  did  not  stick  to  her  last.      As  if  she  had  not  had  enough  experi- 
ence with  fire  at  Brooklyn,  she  afterward  found  herself  in  the  Southern  Hotel  in  St.  Louis  when  it 
was  burned  down,  and  again  displayed  great  coolness  and  energy,  saving  her  brother's  as  well  as 
her  own  life  and  escaping  by  a  burning  staircase  that  fell  just  after  her  foot  had  left  the  last 
step.     .After  this,  a  great  many  superstitious  persons  thought  her  so  unlucky  that  they  refused 
to  attend  theaters  at  which  she  played.     Then  she  took  to  starring.      She  had  previously  been 
married  to  Isidor  Lyon,  a  Xew  York  merchant,  but  in  1878  she  procured  a  divorce  from  her 
husband  and  married  Charles  K.  Stevenson,  a  handsome  young  Irishman,  who  had  been  leading  juvenile  at  Wallack's. 


— :;4— 


BURR    McINTOSH. 

BURR  WILLIAM  McINTOSH  was  one  of  the  first  of  the  rapidly  increasing  number  of  college-bred  men  to  go  upon  the  stage. 
Mr.  Mcintosh  was  born  August  21,  1862.  His  first  ten  years  were  passed  in  Cleveland,  Ohio,  and  from  that  time  until  he  left 
Princeton  College  in  1883,  Pittsburg  was  his  home,  where  for  a  number  of  years  his  father  was  president  of  the  largest  bitumin- 
ous coal  company  in  the  country.  In  the  fall  of  1880  Mr.  Mcintosh  entered  Lafayette  College,  Easton,  Pa.,  and  while  there  was  the 
college  champion  sprinter  and  hurdler,  catcher  on  the  college  nine,  president  of  his  class  and  of  the  college  athletic  association.  Later, 
at  Princeton,  he  held  the  offices  of  vice-president  and  secretary  of  the  Intercollegiate  Athletic  Association.  After  leaving  Princeton, 
neither  the  allurements  of  the  coal  business,  nor  the  attraction  of  the  Pittsburg  Club,  the  smart  Tuesday  Night  Club,  as  a  member  of 
which  he  did  his  first  acting,  were  sufficient  to  keep  him  there.  He  was  ambitious.  Wishing  to  start  slowly  but  surely,  he  went  to 
Philadelphia,  where  Major  Moses  P.  Handy,  then  editor  of  the  A\ic's,  gave  him  a  start.  He  made  a  record  within  si.x  weeks  by  e.\- 
posing,  in  several  columns  of  daring  matter,  several  of  the  worst  thieves'  dives  in  the  city.  While  there  Hartley  Campbell  offered  the 
young  man  a  position  in  his  "  Paquita  "  company,  and  a  successful  debut  was  made  at  the  Fourteenth  Street  Theater,  New  York, 
August  31,  1885.  Since  then  Mr.  Mcintosh  has  left  the  stage  three  times  to  return  to  journalism,  holding  good  positions  on  the 
Philadelphia  Press  and  Tunes  and  Pittsburg  Times.  He  has  now  rolled  into  a  position  on  the  stage  which  he  will  hardly  forsake. 
As  an  actor  he  has  always  been  connected  with  the  best  companies.  His  greatest  successes  have  been  as  Tippy  Brasher  in  "  Nancy 
&  Co.,"  with  Augustin  Daly's  company  in  London,  as  Col.  Calhoun  Booker,  with  E.  S.  Willard  in  "John  Needham's  Double,"  as 
Colonel  Moberly  in  "Alabama,"  as  Joe  \'ernon,  the  mighty  blacksmith,  in  "  In  .Mizzoura,"  and  now  as  Taffy  in  the  original  produc- 
tion of  "Trilby."  Here  he  will  probably  remain  for  the  coming  year  at  least.  Mr.  Mcintosh,  although  the  acknowledged  head  of 
Southern  dialect  comedians  and  successful  as  he  is,  is  ambitious  for  playwriting  honors.  Already  five  successful  one-act  plays  have 
come  from  his  pen.  As  a  card  manipulator  and  raconteur,  Mr.  Mcintosh  is  well  known.  He  is  also  a  politician.  During  the  reform 
movement  last  fall  Mr.  Mcintosh  persuaded  over  two  hundred  actors  and  managers,  who  had  not  voted  before,  to  vote  the  Republican 
ticket.  While  in  Pittsburgh  in  1888  he  was  the  organizer,  president  and  captain  of  the  "  Si.K  Footers"  Republican  Marching  Club,  a 
club  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  men,  all  si.\  feet  tall  or  over.  The  twenty-four  axemen  were  six  feet  four  inches  tall,  and  the  club 
was  preceded  by  the  "Midget  Band,"  composed  of  twenty-five  boys,  whose  average  age  was  thirteen.  It  is  one  of  the  best  bands  in 
Pittsburg  to-day.  Mr.  Mcintosh  was  the  champion  pool  player  of  the  profession  and  probably  is  now.  When  he  organized  the  Five 
A's  Club — Actor  Amateur  Athletic  Association  of  America — he  was  the  champion  sprinter  of  the  profession,  and  it  is  an  acknowl- 
edged fact  that  he  can  defeat  any  man  of  his  weight  sprinting  to-day.  Mr.  Mcintosh's  greatest  pride  is  in  the  satisfaction  that  he  is 
the  brother  of  Miss  Nancy  Mcintosh,  the  charming  American  girl  who,  in  less  than  two  years  since  her  debut,  is  acknowledged  to 
be  one  of  the  leading  prima  donnas  of  London  opera  coinique. 


-26- 


''.^t 


^  ^•fe' 


'i.L-/i 


:^yf..t-^ 


-y^ 


KATHRYX    KIDDER. 

THERE   has  rarely  been  exhibited  on 
the   American   stage   such  a  daring 
piece  of  work  as  Miss  Kathryn  Kid- 
der's announcement  that  she  had  bought  Sardou  and  >Ioreau's 
play,  ••.Madame  Sans-Gene. "  and  would  appear  as  the  washer- 
woman-duchess.    The  play  had  made  an  enormous  hit  in  Paris ;  but 
that  was  to  be  hardly  wondered  at.     It  was  written  to  suit  one  of  the 
cleverest  of  French  actresses,  who  had  been  born  and  brought  up  amid 
theatrical  surroundings  and  had  had  an  actual  stage  experience  herself 
of  over  twenty  years ;  it  was  written  to  fit  a  woman  whom  Paris  ac- 
,      cepted  as  a  typical  Parisienne  and  was  written  to  fit  her  like  a  glove. 
Showing  Napoleon   in   an  entirely  new  character,  it  was  produced  at 
the  height  of  the  Napoleonic  fever  when  persons  were  watching  with 
strained  eyes  to  see  if  there  were  not  some  •■  man  on  horseback  "  coming 
to  save  France  from  the  mire  through  which  the  politicians  were  drag- 
ging her.     Of  course,  it  was  a  success  in  France,  and  Madame  Sans- 
Gene  Rcjane  suddenly  gained  a  world-wide  celebrity.      But  why  should 
it  be  a  success  in  the  United  States  ?     Charles  Frohman,  who  has  the 
reputation  of  being  one  of  the  astutest  of  .American  managers,  refused  it. 
So  did  .-Vugustin  Daly,  who  was  searching  for  some  good  play  to  restore  the 
fortunes  of  his  house.      Then  came  forward  Miss  Kathryn  Kidder,  who  was 
hardly  known   to   theatergoers,  who   had  not  been  on  the  stage  ten  years, 
most  of  that  time  in  a  desultory  manner,   and  announced  that  she  would  buy 
the  American  rights  of  the  play  and  act  the  leading   role.      Mr.   Henry  Abbey, 
who  was  a  personal  friend  of  ^liss  Kidder's,  advised  her  to  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it.      The  Napoleon  craze  in  this  country  was  too  slight  to  help  the  piece 
as  it  had  in  France.      But  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  play  that  particular 
part,  and  I   imagine  that  when   Miss  Kidder  once  makes  up  her  mind  it  is  no 
easy  task   to   induce   her  to   alter   it.      .So  she  played   "Madame   Sans-Gene." 
and   all   the   world    was   surprised    to   find    how   admirably  she  acted   the   role 
of  the  Duchess  of  Dantzig  and  how  beautifully  she  had  staged  the  piece.      It  was 
a  bold  piece  of  work,  but  Miss  Kidder's  enormous  success  throughout  the  country 
has  proved  that  she  was  right  and  the  managers  were  wrong.      It  would  be  a  ridicu- 
lous piece  of  flattery  to  say  that  Miss  Kidder's    Madame    Sans-Gene  is  equal  to 
Madame  Rejane's.      It  is  not,  but  it  is  a  clever  copy  of  it,  and  gives  one  reason  to 
hope  that  ^Iiss  Kidder  may  become  an  actress  of  the  first  class.      She  has  plenty 
of  time  before  her,  since  she  was  born  in  1S69.      Newark,  N.  J.,  was  her  birth- 
^     place,  but  she  was  brought  up  in  Chicago.      It  was  in  that  city  that  she  made  her 
first  appearance,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  as  Lucy  Fairweather  in  ••The  .Streets  of 
■^  ^  -      New    York."     When    "Held    by  the    Enemy"  was  produced    at    the   Madison 

'     ^  .  y  "  Square   Theater,  New  York,  she  played   the  leading  woman's  part.      Then  she 

^'^W^'  went  to  study  in  Paris,  and  on  returning  to  this  country  appeared  as  Dearest  in  ••  Little  Lord 

Fauntleroy."  She  afterward  gamed  much  experience  in  playing  with  Joseph  Haworth  in  his  extensive 
repertoire.  Then  she  made  her  great  coup  by  the  purchase  of  ■•  Madame  Sans-Gene,"  thinking  she  might  save  herself  from  falling 
into  the  rut  that  most  actresses  do,  if  she  could  produce  a  successful  play  in  which  she  owned  an  interest.  Miss  Kidder  has 
undoubted  ability.     She  may  yet  develop  temperament. 


—28— 


^^^RW^ 


IKE  so  many  of  our  young  actors,  Mr.  Faversham  is  an  English- 
man by  birtli.      He  was  educated  at  Eton's  celebrated  rival.  Har- 
row, "the  school  where,  loud  warned  by  the  bell,  we  resorted  to 
pore  o'er  the  precepts  by  pedagogues  taught,"  as  Lord  Byron,  who  was 
also  educated  at  Harrow,  wrote.     But  Mr.  Faversham,  when  he  was 
eighteen,  took  "French  leave"  of  Harrow,  and  adopted  the  boards 
as  a  profession.      Miss  Carlotta  Leclercq  gave  him  his  first  engage- 
ment, and  with  her  he  played  principally  in  the  legitimate  drama  in 
the  English  provinces.      A  certain  Miss  Helen  Hastings  induced  him 
to  come  over  to  this  country  to  support  her  in  juvenile  parts,  but 
unfortunately  the  public   did   not  appreciate  .Miss   Hastings'  tal- 
ents, and  after  two  weeks'  playing   ui   New   York   young    Faver- 
sham found  himself   "stranded."   "To  his  aid  came  Daniel  Froh- 
man.  who  engaged  him  for  three  years  as  a  member  of  his  stoc 
company,  and  at  the  Lyceum  he  appeared  in  "  The  Wife  "  and  in  "  The 
Highest    Bidder."      Not    playing   continuously,   and    being   anxious 
to  improve  in  his  profession,  he  was  at  his  own  solicitation  "lent" 
to  Charles  Frohnian  to  create  the  part  of  Leo  in  "She."    He 
then  became  leading  man  to  Mmnie  Maddern,  playing 
m  such  pieces  as  "Feather  Brain,"  "  .Spite  of  All  "        / 
and  "Caprice."     He  was  afterward  seen  in  "The       >- 
I'rince  and  the   Pauper "  at  the  Lyceum,   since       / 
which  time,  e.xcept  for  a  season  with  Pitou's      / 
stock  company,   he    has   been   with  Charles 
Frohman.      He  played   in   "All  the  Com- 
forts of  Home,"  made  his  first  appearance 
as  a  villain — Prince   V'on  Haldenvaldt — in 
"Aristocracy,"  and  did  so  well  that  since 
then  he  has  been  generally  selected  to  fill 
such  roles.     Mr.  Faversham  has  appeared 
as  Ned  .Annesley   in  "Sowing  the  Wind," 
as  Reginald  Ffolliott  in  "Gudgeons,"  as  Sir 
Brian  Keene  in  "  Tlie   Masqueraders, "  as  Sir 
Herbert    Garling   in    "  John-a-Dreams"   and    as 
Algernon  Moncrieff  in  "The  Importance  of  Being 
Earnest."     Some  of  the  critics  find  that  Mr.  Faver- 
sliam  is  too  self-conscious  on  the  stage.     That  is  prob- 
ably the  fault  of  youth,  and   Mr.  Faversham  may  lay  this 
unction  to  his  soul   that   that   excellent  artist,  Mr.  Kyrie  Bellew, 
was  at  the  same  age  even  more  self-conscious.     Count  U'Orsay  used  to  tell  how  a  very  self- 
conscious  friend  of  his  was  cured  of  this  besetting  sin.    He  was  young  and  remarkably  handsome. 
One  night  he  was  making  a  very  awkward  e/iOre  into  Almack's,  then  the  favorite  resort  of  fashionable 
London.     .-Xn  old  dowager  seated  by  the  door  called  out  to  him  :    "Young  man,  you  are  very  handsome, 
indeed;  but  nobody  is  looking  at  you  e.xcept  me!"      .According  to  D'Orsay's  story,  the  youthful  beau  never 
thereafter  made  an  awkward  f/i/re'c:      If  the  recipe  is  of  any  value  to  Mr.  Faversham  and  will  help  him  to  silence  the  captious  critic, 
we  willingly  place  it  at  liis  service. 


1 


[T   was  the  ambition  of  any  number  of 
women,   young  and   old,  stout   and   slim. 


and    Miss 


ugly  and   pretty,  to  play  the  role  of  Trilby 
when  public  announcement  was  first  made  that  Paul  M.  -*. 

Potter  had  been  conunissioned  by  A.  M,  Palmerto  drama- 
tize Du  Maurier's  immortal  novel.      If  Mr.  Palmer  could  only  publish  the  letters 
he  received  at  that  particular  time — some  from  women  who  had  never  "  trod  the 
boards,"  not  even  as  amateurs — they  would  make  mighty  pretty  reading.     But 
Mr.    Palmer  is  too  discreet  to  tell  the  public  how  he  was  pestered  by  would-be 
Trilbys.      From  the  very  earliest  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  the  part  of  Trilby 
should    be   taken    by    Miss  \'irginia  Harned,   and  the   stories  afloat  that  other 
actresses  were  invited  to  fill  the  role  and  refused,  are  mere  fables,   probably 
started  by  the  actresses  themselves.      Miss  Harned  had  a  difficult  place  to  fill. 
Everyone  who  had  read  the  book  had  formed  an  ideal  Trilby  in  his  or  her  mind, 
such  a  Trilby  as  no  woman  could  represent  on  or  off  the  stage,  and  before  the 
play   was    produced    at    Boston,   the  wi.seacres   wagged    their  heads   and  pro- 
nounced it  must  be  a  failure,  for  no  true  Trilby  could  be  found.      But  it  has 
proved    one    of   the   greatest  dramatic  successes    for    many   years, 
Harned's  performance  of  the  role  of  the  heroine  is  one  of 
the  best  things  she  has  done.     Trilby  does  not  by  any 
means  play  the  important  part  on  the  stage  that 
she  does  in  the  book,  and  Mr.  Potter  might  well 
■"  have  called  the  piece  "  Svengali,"  but  the  nMe  is  a 
charming  and  pathetic  one.     In  strong  contrast  to 
It  IS  another  of  Miss  Harned's  successes,  the  part  of 
^,_^  ^        .,        ■•  The  Dancing  Girl."     Drusilla  had  erred  as  Trilby 
■f\^ij^J^ja    erred,  but  she  was  a  cold,  selfish  woman,  a  betrayer  of 
-^  * — '"■^       men.      It  is  a  curious  coincidence  that  in  these  two 

plays  in  which  Miss  Harned  has  made  her  principal  reputa- 
tion, she  is  in  the  one  a  famous  dancer,  in  the  other,  a  noted  singer, 
and  that   in  neither  does  she  dance  or  sing.      In  "  The  Dancing  Girl "  the 
audience  hears  the  applause  given  to  a  performance  supposed  to  take  place 
•     behind    the   scenes    in    the     Duke    of   Guisebury's    drawing-rooms.       In 
"  Trilby  "  it  has  to  be  satisfied  with  hearing  the  rapturous  plaudits  that  are 
^i,  supposed  to  greet  her  marvelous  singing  behind  the  scenes  in  the  hall  of  the 
t-'^^'M  Bashi-Bazouics.     When  Miss  Harned  was  playing  the  part  of  Drusilla  she 
J7/^,    was  occupying  the  position  of  leading  lady  to  E.  H.  Sothern,  from  which 
-*'-'    she  retired  two  or  three  years  ago.      She  is  a  Bostoman  by  birth,  and  in 
Boston  she  was  educated.      She  became  "  stage-struck  "  at  the  age  of  si.xteen  and  joined  George  Clark's 
■company.     Her  first  appearance  on   the  stage  was  in  the  part  of  Lady  Despar  in  "The  Corsican  Bro- 
thers." '   Mr.   Clark's  attempts  as  a   "star"   did  not  meet  with  unbounded  success,    and  in  a  very   few 
■weeks  Miss  Harned  left  his  company.     In  1S90  she  became  a  member  of  E.  H.  Sothern's  company. 


iCopyrijilu  liy  K.  Chltkcriiin,  1895.     Hy  iwrniissioii  u(  Har|>i:r  lir.j«.  uud  A.  M.  faliuur.) 


M, 


ii<i^ 


*!'f,\^>^ 


-■^^^ii^ 


'3    ^ 


/,t7)«    -^ 


lOHN    MALOXE. 


-"T-i 


Z^'  ■•  -^  ^T^  HE  hist  performance  by  a  regular  company  of  players  within 

I       the  limits  of  the  now  United  States  was  Shakespeare's  "  Merchant' 
uf  \'enice,"  given  at  Wiliianisburg,  \"a.,  in  the  year  1752.      One  of 
the  ]irincipal  members  of  the  company,  and  the  Shylock  of  that  notable  occasion,  was- 
y      a  Mr.  Malone.     There  had   been  a  very  intimate  association  between  the  old  Irish, 
family  of  Malone  and  the  celebrated  Charles  Macklin,  who. was  a  foster-child  of  one 
household  thereof,  so  it  is  not  strange  that  our  American  adventurer  should  have  chosen 
the  calling  and  assumed  the  greatest   character  for  which  his- foster-kinsman  was  famous. 
Mr.  John  Malone,  a  member  of  the  family  which  gave  America  one  of  her  first  tragedians 
and  which,  in  the  person  of  Kdmond   Malone,  the  celebrated  Shakespearean  scholar,  con- 
tributed so  magnificently  to  the  lasting  preservation  of  the   English  drama,  is  a  Yankee 
Irishman,  born  in  Massachusetts  sometime  in  the  early  fifties.      His  parents  migrated  to- 
California  while  he  was  an  infant,  and  he  therefore  is  considered  by  adoption  a  Californian. 
His  active  life  opened  with  a  service  of  some  years  as  a  printer  boy  in  the  office  of  his 
father,  who  was  a  journalist.      He  was  graduated  from  the  College  of  Santa  Clara  in  1S72 
and  admitted  to  the  Bar  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  California  in  1S74.      He  occupied  the 
position  of   Assistant   District-Attorney  of  Santa   Clara  county   four  years,  during  which 
time,  having  attracted  much  notice  as  a  brilliant  amateur  actor,, he  was  offered  a  position  in 
the  stock  company  at  the  Baldwin  Theater,  San  Francisco.     Mr.  Malone  finally  adopted, 
the  stage  as  a  member  of  that  company  in  1879.     After  a  season-  of  varying  experiences, 
he  won  the  attention  and  praise  of  the  tragedian,  \Vm.,  E.  Sheridan,  who   selected  him  to 
play  some  of  the  juvenile  parts  in  his  repertoire.      Acting  upon.  Mr.  Sheridan's  advice  and 
encouragement,  Mr.  Malone  came  East  m  the  year  188 1,  and  was  immediately  engaged  as. 
juvenile  leading  man  by  Mr.  Frank  Mayo  for  a  season's  tour,  in  the  latter's  support,  of 
S  yy  '   '"  ,  Shakespearean  and  other  standard  plays.      Thenceforward  he  continued  to  be  very  active- 

^ff/^r  ■\  \  *^v^^X  ''"'^  prominent  in  this  class  of  work.      He  played  several  engagements  with  Sheridan  in  New  York 

^     II  ^         and  I'hiladelphia,  as  well  as  in  western  cities,  during  which  he  gained  generous  and  unstinted  praise  for 
his  performances  of   lago,  Edgar  and  Nemours  to  Sheridan's  Othello,  Lear  and  Louis  XI.      In  18S6  he- 
became  a  leading  member  of  the  Booth-Barrett  company  and  traveled  withMr.  Booth,  supporting  the 
latter  in  all  his  plays.      During  this  engagement  a  close  and  affectionate  friendship  grew  up  between 
Mr.  Booth  and  Mr.  Malone,  which  continued  unbroken  to  the  time  of  the  former's  death.     When  the- 
i)   ^     \      ■'^  <#^-  '^'\5^      Italian  tragedian,  Salvini,  made  his  last  tour  in  this  country,  Mr.  JNIalonc  was  his  leading  support, 
Ctii>®i       '^''^^^  ST*^!.         P'^yiiiS  ^^%S>  ^'hd  other  parts  with  great  success.      On  the  occasion  of  Mrs.  Langtry's  producing 

•  .Macbeth"  m  this  city,  Mr.  Malone  shared  with  Mr.  Charles  Coghlan  the  honors  of  the  support. 
Since  the  passing  away  of   Mr.  Booth  and   Mr.  Barrett,  the   Shakespearean  drama  has  not  been 
greatly  in  vogue,  and  Mr.  Malone  has  not  been  so  much  heard  of  on  the  stage  as  his  merits 
deserve.      He  has  just  added  a  notable  accomplishment:  to-  his  well-won  reputation  as  a  fine 
Shakespearean  scholar  by  his  performance  of  i\Iarc  Antony  in  a  production  of  "Julius  Caesar" 
at  the  Girard  Avenue  Theater,  Philadelphia,  where  he  went  under  special  engagement  to  Mr. 
to  superintend  and  direct  the  production  as  well  as  to  play.-     Ln.  addition  to  his-reputation  as  an  actor, 
Mr.  Malone  holds  a  notable  place  in  literature  and  is  a  contributor  to  The  Century,  Harper's,  North  American  Revie-n', 
Forum  and  other  magazines.     His  pen  contributed  a  brilliant  memoir  of  Edwin  Booth  to  the  Annual  EncYclopiedia  for- 
J3,  and  an  affectionate  and  interesting  tribute  to  the  memory  of  that  great  actor  which  appeared  in  the  Forum  maga- 
zine for  Julv,   1893.      He  justly  claims  distinction  as  a  poet  by  many  verse  contributions  to  periodical  literature. 
Like  the  eider  Malone,  he  is  a  recognized  authority  in  all  matters  of  Shakespearean  study,  and  his  various  papers 
on  Shakespeare   published   both   in  this  country  and  England-  have  attracted  much   admiration.      He 
contributes  with  much  zeal  and  energy  to  the  revival  of  interest  in  the  Shakespearean  drama  by  the 
delivery  of  lectures,  for  which  work  his  legal  as  well  as  his  dramatic  training  have  peculiarly  adapted 
-a**"    Ifi'ii-     Thus  it  becomes  clear  that   Mr.  Malone   is  really  a  remarkable  man  in  his  calling,  for  few  who 
'""         devote  their  lives  to  the  study  of  special  character  for  impersonation  can  manage  to  find  time  for  those 
profounder  studies  whose  fruit  is  literature.      To  men  of  this  rare  temperament,   supplemented  by  in- 
domitable industry,  the  world  owes  that  kind  of  debt  on  which  only  the  interest  can  ever  be  paid.      They  conserve  the  best  traditions 
of  the  stage  and  stimulate  its  highest  tendencies.     They  fan  the  flame  of  luve  for  the  historic  and  poetic  drama,  when  it  shows  an  in- 
clination   to    die  out    in  the  breasts  of  those  literary  craftsmen  who  are    tempted  to  write  fur    the    mere  applause   and    ducat   of. 
the  moment. 

—34— 


't^iiSM*' 


1  Irom  ii  pliiitogrniih  by  Phillips,  I'hiladclpliiii.) 


^^ 


4       *y^T/  i 


■-^■*:/r= 


> 


»»^ . 


Junior 
two  seasons 
part  in  "  The  Widow  Jones." 


LEST   with  a  temper  whose  unclouded  ray  can  make  to- 
morrow cheerful  as  to-day. "    This  is  the  temper  with  which 
it  has  pleased  Providence  to  endow  May  Irwin.     She  never 
fails  to  carry  it  about  with  her.  on  the  stage  as  well  as  off.     She  has 
not,  so  tradition  saj's,  been  known  ever  to  say  an  ill-natured  thing  about 
anyone  except  May  Irwm.      That  she  does  not  often  do.  for  unlike  the  majority 
of  players,  she  rarely  talks  about  herself,  and  then  only  when  driven  into  a  corner 
bv  some  inquisitive  friend.      She  bubbles  over  with  good  humor,  a  good  humor 
that  is  catchmg  and  puts  everyone  in  her  company  on  pleasant  terms  with  himself 
and  the  rest  of  the  world.     Miss  Irwin  has,  although  there  are  some  malicious 
members  of  the  inferior  sex,  notably  Mr.  William  S.  Walsh,  who  say  no  woman  can 
possess  it,  a  very  keen  sense  of  humor.      In  that   Bohemia  where  men  of  wit  con- 
gregate. Miss  Irwin  holds  her  own  with  bright  sallies,  and  there  is  no  more  popular 
citizen  of  that  land  of  unconventionality,  good  comradeship  and  mental  brightness 
than  May  Irwm.      Of  Scotch  descent,  born  in  Canada,  she  is  practically  a  citizeness 
of  the  I'nited  States,  who,  when  she  is  not  playing,  delights  to  fish  and  boat  among 
the  Thousand  Islands,  where  she  owns  a  farm.      She  made  her  first  appearance  in  a 
variety  show  at  liuffalo,  where  she  sang  duets  with  her  sister  Flo.     Later  she  joined 

tji^.         Tony  Pastor's,  and  for  seven  years  she  was  considered  one  of  the  brightest  stars  of 
y-'        the  variety  stage.     Then  she  felt  a  yearning  for  the  "  legitimate  "  and  joined  Augus- 
tin  Daly's  company.     She  will  tell  you  how  difficult  she  found  it  at  first  not  to  in- 
troduce "gags,"  as  she  had  been  accustomed  to  at  Tony  Pastor's.      Her  first  appear- 
ance at  Daly's  was  in  Pinero's  "  lioys  and  Girls."     She  created  the  parts  of  Susan 
'   in  "A  Night  Off"  and  of  Lucy  in  "The  Recruiting  Officer."     She  remained  with 
Daly's  for  four  years,  during  which  period  she  twice  visited   London,   where  she 
made  a  great  hit  as  Susan.      Miss  Irwm  afterward  joined  the  Howard  Athenaeum  com- 
For  a  season  she  was  engaged  by  Charles  Frohman,  pl.iyed  Helen  Stockton  in   "The 
Partner"  and  was  a  great  success  in  her  burlesque  of  Ophelia  in  "Poets  and  Puppetts. "     For 
she  has  been  playing  Elizabeth  in  "The  Country  Sport,"  and  next  season  will  play  the  star 


pany. 


.  CliickcniiK.  II'wtiMi.) 


^^^2i> 


JOSEPH  H.  BARNES  was  once  considered  the  handsomest  actor  on  the  Eng- 
Hsh  boards,  and  was  known  in  that  country,  as  well  as  in  this,  as  ' '  handsome 
Jack."  He  was  formerly  engaged  in  business,  but  deserted  it  for  the  stage,  and  made 
his  debut  in  1871  in  a  small  part  in  the  ■' Bells"  when  it  was  first  produced  at  the  London 
Lyceum.  Then  he  was  engaged  by  H.  J.  Montague,  who  was  trying  his  hand  at  that  time 
as  a  manager,  and  had  not  yet  come  to  this  country,  where  he  was  to  become  so  popular. 
For  the  ne.xt  two  or  three  years  Mr.  Barnes  was  gaining  experience  in  various  London  \ 
theaters  and  in  the  English  provinces.  He  gained  the  reputation  of  being  one  of  the  most 
promising  leading  men  of  the  day,  and  in  1S74  he  came  over  to  this  country  to  support  the  beau- 
tifu'.  and  gifted  Adelaide  Neilson.  His  first  appearance  in  New  York  was  made  as  Benedick  to  the 
Beatrice  of  Miss  Neilson.  During  the  same  season  he  traveled  all  over  the  L'nited  States  with  Miss 
Neilson.  acting  with  her  in  such  roles  as  Romeo.  Claude  Melnotte,  Orlando  and  Joseph  Surface.  His  first 
laurels  may,  therefore,  be  said  to  have  been  won  in  this  country.  On  his  return  to  England  he  played  with 
Dion  Boucicault,  with  Irving  and  others,  and  then  made  a  great  hit  as  Captain  Crostree  in  ••\Villiani  and 
-Susan,"  Will's  adaptation  of  "Black  Eyed  Su.san."  At  the  Fourteenth  Street  Theater,  New  York,  he  produced  the 
same  play  on  the  night  of  September  19,  1S81,  the  night  on  which  President  Garfield  died.  He  afterward  made  a  tour  through  the 
L'nited  States  in  "The  World."  .About  this  time  we  find  him  in  London  playing  Appius  Claudius  to  the  \'irginius  of  the  late  John 
McCuUough,  and  Macduff  and  Esse.x  to  the  Lady  Macbeth  and  Queen  Elizabeth  of  i\ladame  Ristori.  During  Miss  Mary  Anderson's 
first  season  in  London,  in  1883,  he  was  her  leading  man,  and  he  accompanied  her  in  her  first  tour  through  the  English  provinces. 
He  returned  to  us  once  more  in  1884  to  take  the  place  of  the  late  Charles  R.  Thorne,  as  leadmg  man  at  the  L'nion  Square  Theater. 
Two  years  later  he  made  another  great  hit  in  London  in  "Antoinette  Rigaud,"  which  he  played  with  the  Kendals.  .As  Rigaud  he 
was  considered  the  success  of  the  piece.  The  same  year  he  joined  Miss  Fanny  Davenport  as  her  leading  man  for  a  tour  in  the  United 
States,  playing  with  her  Loris  Ipanoff,  Charles  Surface,  Claude  Melnotte,  Dazzle,  Benedick,  etc.  Again  he  was  engaged  to  support 
Miss  Anderson  in  an  English  tour,  and  came  back  with  her  to  the  L'nited  States.  Since  that  time  Mr.  Barnes  has  spent  a  good  deal 
of  his  time  in  this  country,  playing  with  the  Kendals,  with  the  Jefferson-Florence  combination,  in  "The  Prodigal  Daughter, "  etc. 
Only  the  principal  features  of  Mr.,  Barnes'  career  have  been  mentioned.  They  will,  however,  give  the  reader  an  idea  how  varied  and 
extensive  it  has  been.  It  is  an  instructive  record,  for  it  shows  how  much  hard  work  has  to  be  gone  through  before  one  can  occupy 
such  a  position  on  the  English-speaking  stage  as  Mr.  Barnes  does  to-day.  Mr.  Barnes  joined  the  dramatic  profession  at  a  time  when 
a  reaction  was  taking  place  both  on  the  English  and  .American  stage.  A  French  company,  including  Got  and  Coquelin,  had  visited 
London  during  L' .\iuicc  Tt-rrihle,  and  the  undoubted  merits  of  the  comedians,  their  educated  feeling  for  unity  and  harmony  of  effect, 
therr  reticence  in  expression,  and  the  care  they  bestowed  upon  the  smallest  matters  of  detail,  appealed  to  the  young  English  aspirants 
for  dramatic  laurels  and  received  considerable  attention  from  many  actors  of  the  English  school.  The  way  had  been  prepared  by  the 
grace  and  charm  of  Fechter's  style,  which  had  successfully  invaded  the  very  strongholds  of  tradition  and  had  shaken  some  of  the 
most  cherished  convictions  of  the  English-speaking  actor's  art.  As  a  revolutionary  force,  Fechter's  influence  upon  the  American 
and  English  stage  was  perhaps  the  greatest  that  appeared  at  the  time.  His  daring  endeavor  to  modernize  the  characters  of  poetical 
tragedy  served,  even  in  its  failure,  to  strengthen  an  already  growing  conviction  that  Shakespeare  was  intended  for  the  closet  and  not 
for  the  stage,  and  to  most  of  the  young  actors  of  the  day  this  was  a  welcome  conclusion.  The  idea  that  the  poetical  drama  was  dead 
gave  a  new  dignity  and  importance  to  the  careful  and  accurate  study  of  contemporary  life  and  manners.  And  as  the  intellectual 
limitations  of  Fechter's  art  tended  to  discourage  the  belief  in  any  ideals  that  he  was  unable  to  present,  so  also,  in  a  purely  technical 
sense,  his  foreign  cadence,  which  so  charmed  the  ears  of  his  audience,  had  the  effect  of  discrediting  the  principles  of  elocution  and  of 
thus  preparing  English  and  American  audiences  for  a  faithful  imitation  on  the  stage  of  the  broken  sentences  and  careless  enunciation 
of  the  actual  world.  This  revolution  in  dramatic  art,  begun  by  Fechter,  was  carried  a  step  further  in  London  by  the  Bancrofts  with 
Robertson's  dreadfully  namby-pamby  comedies — comedies  over  which,  I  own,  I  raved  in  other  days.  But  aiitres  jou>  s,  autres  /lururs. 
Then  the  best  players  of  the  House  of  Moliere  came  to  the  rescue  of  English  dramatic  art,  and  Mr.  Barnes  had  the  good  fortune  to 
adopt  the  stage  just  as  this  reaction  for  the  better  took  place  in  London. 


VS— 


(From  n  photoirniph  hy  Falk,  New  York.) 


tation,  and  for,  two  years  she  made  a  brilliant  success  of 
the  German  theater.     Born  in  Hamburg,  she  was,  so  to 
speak,  a  stage-child,  for  her  father  was  leader  of  the  orchestra  at 
the  leading  theater.     She  drifted  naturally  into  comic  opera, 
and,  when  she  was  fourteen,  played  the  leading  role  in  Offen- 
bach's "  La  IJelle  Hclene."     She  had  become  a  star  and  was 
playing    in    ISerlin  when   she  married   George   Cottrelly,  an 
Englishman,  who  belonged  to  a  famous  family  of  circus  peri'orm- 
•  1^^^^^^^  -, --     k'^'Hb     ^ yy  '  ^^^'     ■''^^  "^^  on  a  starring  tour  in  Russia  when   he  died.     Then 

M^^^^^^^f,  ffll'fesS^*  ^^  came  to  this  country  to  play  sonbrette  and  musical  comedy  parts 

|K^  Y^       — '  under  the  management  of  Adolph  Xeuendorff,  at  the  Ciermania  Theater, 

*W  i.^»,  \  now  Tony  Pastor's.      Three  seasons  later  she  made  her  debut  in  English  at 

San  Francisco  and  remained  there  a  year.  This  brings  us  to  1S79,  when  she 
leased  the  Thalia.  Madame  Cottrelly  made  a  success  of  her  management, 
during  which  she  brought  Geistinger  to  this  country  and  reaped  a  goodly 
harvest  out  of  the  engagement.  About  this  time  she  became  the  wife  of  a 
Mr.  Weste,  from  whom  she  was  afterward  divorced,  and  became  a  leading 
member  of  Colonel  McCauH's  opera  company.  Her  former  managerial  expe- 
rience came  in  most  usefully,  and  she  practically  managed  that  company 
during  its  palmiest  days.  I  recall  the  Colonel  telling  me  how  she  not  only  would 
rehearse  the  plays,  but  would  design  the  costumes  and  set  to  work  with  an  army 
of  seamstresses  to  cut  out  and  make  them  up.  But  in  due  time  there  came  the 
downfall  of  the  McCauil  opera  and  with  it  Madame  Cottrelly's  Waterloo.  She 
found  herself  heavily  in  debt — debts  which  she  had  not  incurred  herself,  but  for 
which  the  law  held  her  responsible — and  she  pluckily  set  to  work  and  paid  them. 
She  joined  the  Germania  Theater  in  Philadelphia  and  there  played  the  title  role 
in  "  Magda, "  in  which  she  made  a  big  hit.  And  then  we  heard  of  her  playing  on 
the  road  in  •'.■\donis."  Madame  Cottrelly  is  now  acting  the  role  of  Madame 
A'inard  in  Paul  Potter's  "  Trilby  "  at  the  Garden  Theater,  New  York,  and  her 
performance  is  one  of  the  best  in  an  excellent  cast.  Mathilde  Cottrelly  is  probably 
the  most  versatile  actress  on  the  American  stage  to-day.  She  has  played  in  high 
comedy  and  low  comedy  and  made  her  mark  in  tragic  parts.  She  has  sung  in 
comic  opera,  in  that  bastard  comic  opera  so  popular  in  this  country  to-day,  and  in 
burlesque,  and  in  all  she  has  gained  in  laurels.  One  day  she  is  acting  in  German;  the  ne.xt,  she  is  performing  r.o  less  artistically 
in  English.  We  do  not  know  of  any  other  actress  of  whom  this  can  be  said.  And  Cottrelly  is  the  most  good  natured  of  women, 
who,  in  days  of  prosperity,  is  not  puffed  up,  and,  when  times  are  hard,  never  loses  her  good  spirits.  Two  years  ago  she  took  to 
herself  a  third  husband,  .Mr.  Thomas  J.  Wilson,  the  son  of  a  Philadelphia  clergyman. 


-40- 


'■l..v;i;i|ih  l.y  Cliii  fct-riim,  lliisloll.l 


HAT     first 
brought  Mr. 
Harry  Woodruff 
into  public  prominence  was  not  any 
particularly  brilliant  piece  of  acting 
on  his  part,  but  his  resignation  from  Charles 
Frohman's  comedy,  in  order  to  take  a  law- 
course  at  Yale,  with  the  intention  of  ultimately, 
as  it  was  reported,  becommg  the  husband  of  Miss 
Anna  Gould,  now  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Castellane. 

This  was  announced  in  November,  1S93,  when  Henry  Ingott  Woodruff, 
to  give  him  his  full  name,  was  twenty-four  years  of  age.     He  was  born 
in   Hartford,  Conn.,   on  June   I,   1S69.      His  father,  Samuel  \\  Wood- 
ruff, then  of  the  firm  of  Woodruff  &  Beach,  is  now  in  business  in 
r,       Boston.     Harry  Woodruff  was  only  nine  years  old  when   he  made 
his  first  appearance  on  the  stage  as  a  member  of  a  juvenile  "  Pina- 
fore "  company  chorus  at  the  Fourteenth  Street  Theater,  New  York, 
n   1879  Daniel   Bandmann   engaged   him  to  play  the  part  of  a 
page  in   "Narusso."     With  liooth,  in   1880,  he  took  the  role 
of  the   Duke  of  York  in  "  Richard  III."  and  acted  pages'  parts 
in    "'The   Fool's   Revenge"   and   "Richelieu."     Then   for  a 
short  time  he  was  a  member  of  the  JSoston  Theater  company. 
At  Wood's  Museum,  Philadelphia,  he  starred  as  Stumps,  a  back- 
woods  boy,  in  "Carrots,"  and  succeeded   Eliza   Weathersby  as 
Ned.  the  cabin  boy.  in  "The  Black  Flag."  which  Nat  Goodwin 
was  producing  in  1883.      In  four  seasons  young  Woodruff  played 
the  part  nearly  one  thousand  two  hundred  times.     In  1887   he  was 
Palmer's   company;  then   he   made  a  tour  of  the  world,  returned  to 
New  York   and  played    Anthony   in  "Ye   Earlie   Trouble "  at   the  Twenty-third 
Street  Theater.     .Soon  afterward  he  joined  Charles  Frohman's  company,  played  Dr. 
Pen  wick   in   "The  Girl   I   Left  Behind   Me,"   and   was  acting  in   "Charley's  Aunt" 
when  he  decided  to  desert  the  stage.      In  "Charley's  Aunt"  he  had  no  great  part 
to  play,  but  principally  attracted  attention  among  the  female  portion  of  the  audience 
on  account  of  his  golden,  wavy  hair,  which  recalled  a  mead  of  daffodils  rippled  by 
a  gentle  western  breeze.     But  to  return  to  his  engagement  to  Miss  Gould.  Jay  Gould 
objected  to  his  daughter  allying  herself  to  an  actor,   although  his  eldest   son  had 
married  an  actress.      Thomas  Byrnes,  at   that  time  .Superintendent  of   Police  and 
Czar  of  New  York,  had  taken  the  Gould  family  under  his  wing — we  have  since 
learned  how  much  it  was  to  his  advantage — and  sent  for  young  Woodruff.     What 
e.xactly  happened  history  does  not  relate;  but  Harry  Woodruff  no  longer  wooed  Miss 
Anna  Gould.      He  left  the   stage   and   took  to   law,  and  the   young   lady  became  a 
French  countess.      A  fashionable  Abbe  of  Paris  has  since  then  preached  against  the 
iance  of  the  "  blue  blood  "  of  France  w'ith  the  daughter  of  a  man  who.made  his 
fortune  by  wrecking  railroads  and  bringing  misery  to  the  widow  and  orphan.     On  dit 
the  effect  of  that  Abbe's  sermon  has  been  such  that  the  Faubourg  .St.  Germain — the 
noble  Faubourg — refuses  to  recognize  the  American  heiress,  which  must  be  some  con- 
solation to  the  wooer  warned  off  by  Superintendent  Byrnes.     It  may  be  that  he  will  in 
the  near  future  obtain  still  further  consolation,  when,  having  pleaded  to  a  jury  of  "new 
women  "  the  cause  of  a  jilted   male,    he  will   procure   heavy  damages  for  breach    of 
promise  against  a  member  of  the  overriding  se.x  and  teach  it  that  downtrodden  man 
has  a  heart  which,  though  broken,  can  be  mended  by  the  mighty  dollar. 


(I'p.m  a  phiitiiur.iiih  by  Falk,  New  York.) 


'HE  operatic  prima  donnas  formerly  formed  a  class  absolutely 
unique  in  special  character,  as  well  as  special  genius.  There 
was  nothing  in  the  least  analogous  to  it  in  any  other  art  or  pro- 
fession, and  if  the  "queen  of  song"  rose  apparently  without  an  effort, 
often  m  a  single  bound,  to  the  utmost  height  of  fame,  fortune  and  rank, 
there  were  inherent  dangers  and  drawbacks  in  her  career  which  a  study  of  the  class 
shows  that  she  but  too  rarely  escaped.  Rising,  as  a  general  rule,  from  the  humbler 
ranks  of  society,  after  a  childhood  of  severe  training,  with  vanity  stimulated  on  one 
hand  by  the  admiration  of  friends,  and  on  the  other  by  the  criticisms  of  rivals,  she 
suddenly  found  herself  in  the  receipt  of  enormous  sums,  courted  by  the  highest  and 
talked  of  by  all.  With  an  almost  unvarying  fatality,  she  was  dazzled  by  her  success; 
her  vanity  developed  into  the  wildest  caprice ;  and  often  profusely  generous,  she  nearly 
always  became  extravagant  to  the  last  degree;  with  suitors  of  the  highest  classes,  and  yet 
constantly  brought  in  contact  with  all  the  strange  characters  who  crowd  the  outskirts  of  oper- 
atic life,  she  rarely  contracted  a  marriage  in  which  disparity  of  social  position,  or  her  own 
caprice  in  one  case  or  the  brutality  or  avarice  of  her  husband  in  the  other,  did  not  prove  a  fatal 
bar  to  happiness.  Seldom,  too,  did  good  judgment  attend  her  brilliant  talents,  and  rarely  retiring 
from  the  scene  in  the  full  tide  of  popularity  and  fortune,  her  career  of  brilliant  success  was  and  is 
to-day  too  often  closed  amidst  the  bitter  mortificalion  of  finding  her  failing  powers  unable  to- 
prevent  all  her  empire  passing  away  to  a  younger  rival.  Such  was,  as  a  rule,  the  melancholy 
tale  of  the  prima  donna's  life  of  half  a  century  ago.  Within  the  limits  of  the  present  generation 
many  things  have  changed  and  lessened  the  dangers  as  well  as  the  excessive  brilliancy  of  the 
"queen  of  song's"  dominion.  Professional  culture  has  increased  in  extent,  at  least  in  pari 
passu,  with  popular  taste  in  music.  The  tendency  of  Wagner  and  his  school  is  not  in  favor  of 
undue  exaltation  of  one  brilliant  star  to  the  exclusion  of  all  others,  and  there  seems  slight  prob- 
ability of  again  witnessing  a  musical  furore  such  as  were  matters  of  common  occurrence  up  to 
comparatively  a  few  years  ago.  It  is  not  likely  that  the  sensation  that  Jenny  Lind  made  will  ever  be 
repeated  in  this  country  or  Europe ;  nor  is  it  probable  that  any  prima  donna  will  ever  again  be  able  to  command  the  prices  that  Patti 
once  did.  In  proportion  as  this  tendency  is  developed,  the  position  of  the  "queen  of  song"  of  the  day  is  relatively  lowered,  and  we 
find  now  brilliant  gifts  of  nature  less  frequently  associated  with  wild  and  romantic  careers  ending  in  misery  and  obscurity.  We  do 
not  hear  to-day  of  a  Cuzzoni  receiving  the  homage  of  the  rulers  of  the  earth  and  then  passing  her  closing  years  in  such  poverty  that 
button-making  alone  saves  her  from  starvation ;  nor  do  we  see  the  fashionable  society  of  large  cities  divided  into  two  hostile  camps 
over  the  respective  merits  of  rival  "queens  of  song,"  as  London  was  over  Cuzzoni  and  Fanatina.  Rosa  Hasselbeck  Sucher  was  in 
her  prime  at  the  very  head  of  her  profession,  at  least  in  Germany.  She  was  acknowledged  to  be  the  best  Isolde  that  had  ever  ap- 
peared on  any  stage,  and  ranked  with  Materna  and  Lillie  Lehmann  as  one  of  the  best  interpreters  of  Wagner's  heroines.  But  hers 
has  been  a  quiet,  humdrum  life,  compared  with  the  lives  of  the  prima  donnas  of  old  days.  She  has  been  through  years  of  study, 
temptation  and  success,  and  in  those  handsome  eyes  of  hers  you  will  see  shining  the  gentle  light  of  contentment  that  shows  her  heart 
is  as  stainless,  as  simple,  and  as  pure  as  when  a  little  girl  she  listened  enchanted  to  the  singing  of  those  who  afterward  in  admiration 
listened  to  her.  Her  voice  is  no  longer  what  it  was.  It  has  become  shrill  in  the  upper  register  and  somewhat  worn  in  the  medium 
tones,  but  ten  years  ago  Rosa  Sucher's  voice  could  fill  the  listener  with  the  power  of  a  divine  gift  that,  touching  the  better  part  of 
one's  nature,  lifted  it  up  to  her  high  conception.  When  her  voice  had  ceased  one  felt  she  had.  for  the  time,  removed  one  from  this- 
sordid  earth.  She  still  acts  as  she  ever  did,  with  the  worship  of  her  art  in  her  soul.  Music  she  inherited.  Her  father  was  a  poor 
music  teacher  of  the  Palatinate,  who  devoted  what  little  time  he  could  spare  to  her  musical  education.  But  she  did  not  like  the  drud- 
gery of  learning  the  groundwork,  and  was  lazy.  The  old  man  took  her  with  him  one  day  to  Leipsic.  In  the  evening  she  went  to  the- 
opera  for  the  first  time.  Those  who  sang  that  night  never  had  so  appreciative  a  listener  as  that  little  girl.  From  that  night  she 
worked  hard,  but  she  was  not  completely  happy  until,  at  the  age  of  nineteen,  she  stood  on  that  same  stage,  a  prima  donna,  holding  the 
audience  spellbound  by  the  wonders  of  her  voice.  It  is  a  sad  pity  that  she  did  not  visit  the  United  States  when  she  was  in  her  prime, 
for  those  who  heard  her  last  season  for  the  first  time  cannot  appreciate  what  a  glorious  voice  she  had  before  the  strain  of  Wagner's- 
operas  had  worn  it. 

—44— 


llr^iii  ;i  |ih-H..i^r.ii'ii  !■)•  H-ri,  tt.  }'- 


generations  \vu 


AX  AL\'ARY  was  born  with  artistic 
blood  in  his  veins,  for  he  is  the  son 
of    Andreas   Achenbach,  who,  with 
Adolph  Schroedter  and  others,  laughed  the 

old  idealists  out  of  fashion  and  helped  to  found  the  modern  realistic  school  of  painting 
in   Germany.      He  was   born,   too,  in   a  city — Dusseldorf — that   teems   with  artistic 
sentiment,  and,  being  the  son   of  his   father,  he  dwelt  from  his  childhood  among 
artists  of  all  kinds — musicians,  painters,  sculptors,  architects,  singers  and  actors.     A 
youth  with  temperament  cannot  spend  his  early  days  in  one  of  these  German  cities,  be 
it  Diisseldorf  or  AVeimar,  Munich  or   Carlsruhe,  or  even  in  Hanover   and  Stuttgart, 
without  having  his   artistic  taste  discovered.      In  his  birthplace  young  Max  Achenbach 
found    an    atmosphere   which   developed    in   his  nature  that   high   conception   and    true 
standard  of  art  which  has  elevated  him  to  his  present  position  as  one  of  the  greatest  tenors  of  the 
day  and  one  of  the  most  intelligent  of  operatic  actors.      .As  a  boy  he  had  a  very  sweet  voice,  and 
when  he  was  at  school  in  Paris  he  often  sang   in  its  churches,  but  took  no  instructions  in  singing. 
Later,  he  studied  under  that  wonderful  jiroducer  of  the  human  voice,  Lamperti.      But  the  era  of  the 
Donizzettis,  the  Bellinis  and  the  Rossinis  was  passing  away.    German  art  had  arisen,  and  Ma.\  Ach- 
enbach was  attracted  to  Wagner  and  his  school.     He  foresaw  greater  success  on  the  German  stage 
than  as  an  Italian  singer.    He  returned  to  his  fatherland,  put  himself  in  charge  of  Julius  Stockhausen. 
of  Frankfort,  and  commenced  his  public  career  as  a  singer  in  concerts  and  oratorio.     He  met  with  im- 
mediate success  anti  eventuallv,  against  his  father's  wish,  adopted  the  operatic  stage.      Under  the  name  of 
Max  .A.lvary,  he  made  his  debut  at  the  Court  Theater  at  Weimar.    The  late  Emperor  William  took  a  great 
interest  in  the  young  tenor  and  frequently  summoned  him  to  Berlin  to  sing  at  state  receptions.      On 
November  9,   1S87,  .Max  .Alvary  made  his  first  .American  appearance  at  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House, 
New  York,  in  the  part  of  Siegfried,  and  in  the  same  house,  rebuilt,  he  made  his  hundredth  appearance  in 
■— '        that  role  on  the  occasion  of  a  benefit  given  to  him  last  season.    Siegfried  he  has  played   in  most  of  the 
large  German  and  .American  cities  and  in  London.      It  is  as  the  greatest  Siegfried  of  his  day  that  future 
mostly  hear  of  him. 

-46- 


-y 


(Troin  a  i)hi>to>{ni[ih  l)y  >uroiiy.  -New  NurkJ 


company.      On  November  12,  1S77,  she 


ARY  ANDERSON  was 
in  the  morning  of  h  e  r 
career  when  slie  retired 
into  private  life.  A  self-trained  girl,  her 
birth  and  breeding  wholly  uninfluenced  by  any 
stage  association,  she  burst  out  as  a  star  on  the 
theatrical  horizon  when  she  was  but  si.xteen  years  of 
age.  Her  youth,  her  grace  plus  belle  que  la  beaute, 
her  intelligence  and  sensibility  helped  her  in  her  up- 
ward Bight,  so  did  her  beauty  of  feature  and  beauty  of 
refined  expression.  She  had,  too,  a  remarkably  clever  man- 
ager in  her  stepfather.  I5ut  these  only  helped,  and  could  not 
have  atoned  for  the  lack  of  the  divine  spark  with  which  alone 
an  artist  can  make  a  mark  upon  his  generation.  Mary  Ander- 
son did  carry  the  sacred  hre.  True,  it  was  hidden  away  during 
the  first  years  of  her  stage  career,  but  before  that  career  closed 
Miss  Anderson  had  refuted  the  charge  of  her  critics  that  she  was 
incapable  of  portraying"  passion.  "Owen  Meredith"  once  wrote  of 
her  later  Juliet — "All  these  delicate  touches  of  rapidly  changing  emo- 
tion are  rendered  with  an  intensity  of  refined  and  true  expression, 
so  passionate,  so  tender  and  so  affecting,  that  I  am  utterly  at  a  loss 
to  understand  how  any  of  Miss  Anderson's  critics  can  justify  the 
/^  assertion  that  she  falls  off  in  the  stronger  scenes  where  the  earnest- 
ness of  the  woman  is  thoroughly  aroused."  And  the  author  of 
"  Lucille  "  is  generally  supposed  to  have  had  sufficient  knowledge  of 
women  to  know  when  and  how  her  earnestness  is  thoroughly  aroused. 
But  Miss  Anderson  deserted  the  tragic  muse  just  at  the  time  she 
was  proving  that  from  the  gods  she  had  received  the  gift  of  genius. 
The  very  critics  who  had  absurdly  overestimated  her  powers  when  she 
was  a  raw  amateur,  had  betaken  upon  themselves  to  belittle  her  ability 
when  she  had  become  a  finished  actress,  and,  disgusted  with  the  stage 
and  its  surroundings,  she  left  her  native  land  to  make  her  home  in 
'1  England,  where,  as  Mrs.  Antonio  Navarro,  she  spends  a  quiet  life 
t,  amid  artistic  surroundings.  It  was  on  July  28,  1859,  that  Mary  An- 
derson was  born  at  Sacramento  on  the  Pacific  Slope.  Her  mother  was 
a  Philadelphian  of  German  descent,  while  her  father,  the  grandson  of  an 
Englishman,  came  from  New  York.  The  father  fell  at  Mobile  while  fighting 
for  the  Confederate  cause,  when  Mary  was  three  years  old.  Four  years  later 
her  mother  married  a  Louisville  doctor,  Hamilton  Griffin,  and  it  was  in  Louis- 
ville that  the  future  actress  spent  her  childhood,  and  was  educated  first  at 
the  Ursuline  Convent  and  then  at  a  school  kept  by  nuns.  The  lack  of 
space  will  only  permit  of  a  brief  sketch  of  her  early  stage  career.  Charlotte 
Cushman  recommended  her  to  take  lessons  in  the  dramatic  art  from  the 
younger  Vandenhoff,  and  from  him  she  received  her  lessons — strictly  speak- 
ing, the  only  professional  training  she  received  for  the  stage.  She  made  her 
debut  on  November  27,  1875,  at  iMacauley's  Theater,  Louisville,  for  the  benefit 
of  one  Milnes  Levick,  an  English  actor,  who  had  the  misfortune  to  find  himself 
in  pecuniary  difiiculties.  The  play  selected  for  the  debut  was  "Romeo  and 
Juliet,"  and  Miss  Anderson  was  announced  in  the  play-bills  thus:  "Juliet,  by  a 
Louisville  young  lady  (her  first  appearance  on  any  stage)."  The  theater  was 
packed,  and  the  Louis7<ille  Courier  the  next  morning  announced  her  to  be  a  great 
actress.  'The  performance  was.  as  a  matter  of  fact,  a  remarkable  display  of 
natural  talent  m  spite  of  its  violence  and  distortion.  A  regular  engagement  at 
the  same  theater  followed,  and  she  appeared  there  as  Evadne,  Bianca,  Julia  and 
Juliet.  St.  Louis  and  New  Orleans  received  her  with  open  arms,  and  Washing- 
Mi  i  ton  went  into  raptures  over  her,  but  luckily  for  the  young  actress  she  went  to  San 
Jl  '  P'rancisco,  and  there  received  her  first  rebuff  before  she  had  been  spoiled  by  flat- 
^^^  tery.  She  took  the  lesson  well  to  heart  and  set  herself  to  earnest  work  with  a  strolling 
made  her  New  York  debut  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Theater  as  Pauline  in  "  The  Lady  of  Lyons. " 


(From  n  photoKniph  l)y  \\'.  mul  I>.  hmvnc>',  l.undoii,  Knulmw'  ) 


:^y^ 


THE  younger  generation  of  play-goers  can  scarcely  appreciate  the  impression  created 
in  this  country  by  Tommasso  Salvini,  the  "Prince  of  the  Stage,"  when  he  paid  us 
his  second  visit  about  fourteen  years  ago.     He  had  made  a  previous  tour  through  the 
United  States  as  far  back  as   1S73.      It  was  a  season  of  almost  unexampled  commercial  de- 
pression, but  Salvini  felt  himself  sufficiently  appreciated  to  wish  to  revisit  us  under  kind- 
lier auspices.      He  returned,  and  despite  the  disadvantage  of  a  very  poor  support  from 
-  i       an  English-speaking  company,  he  made  a  furor.     He  W'as  hailed  with  enthusiasm  b^' 
-ill  classes,  professional  and  non-professional,  not  only  throughout  this  continent  but 
in  every  part  of  Europe.      He  spoke  m  a  language  incomprehensible  to  most  of 
his  audiences  in  the  United  States  and  England,  and  the  works  of  Shakespeare 
were  known  to  him  only  through   translations.      Yet  by  the  sheer  force  of   his 
inspiration,  by  the  beautiful  sound  of  and  the  perfect  art  of  modulating  his  voice, 
be  succeeded  in  unrolling  before  those  suppiised  most  thoroughly  to   have   studied  the 
rks  he  created,  pictures,  the  brilliancy,  the  vivacity,  the  life-like  truth  of  which  sur- 
assed  all  that  had  been  seen  before,  and  created  an -enthusiasm  second  to  none — not 
icn  the  triumphs  of   Edmund  Kean,  of  Forrest,    Booth  or  Macready.      Salvini  had 
begun  with  studying  and  representing  the  great  parts  of  the  poets  who  illustrated 
his  own  country.      Then  he  demanded  new  worlds  to  conquer,  and  turned  to  the 
creations  of  Shakespeare.      As  Othello,  as  Hamlet,  as  Macbeth,  and  in  later  years 
as  King  Lear,  he  was  hailed  with  delight  by  the  English-speaking  public,  and  as  an 
old  man  held  the  same  sway  over  his  audiences  as  he  had  done  in  his  younger 
days.     From  the  highest  to  the  lowest  he  received  adulation.      Victor  Emanuel  of 
Italy  once  came  upon  the  stage,  and  taking  Salvini's    hand  said:   "I  bow  to  a 
King."     Paris,   which  recognizes  no  glory    unless    it  has   received    the  supreme, 
the  only  consecration,  baplaiie  de  Paris,   allowed  him  to  be  incomparable,   and 
tiie  poor  of  Montevideo  subscribed  to  replace  a  lost  ring  which  a  King  had  pre- 
sented to  the  actor.      He  was  one  of  those  fortunate  individuals  who  could  do  well 
everything  that  he  turned  his  hand  to.     He  had  enormous  muscular  strength,  was 
a  splendid  swordsman,  rider  and  swimmer,  could  dance  perfectly  and  was  an  expert 
with  his  needle.      As  an  actor  he  was,  like  Adelina  Patti,   "The  Pupil  of  God."     He 
had,  of  course,  a  certain  amount  of  routine  to  encounter,  but  he  was  spared   the  usual 
)ng  and  patient  ordeal  which  most  artists  have  to  pass  through.      He  broke  down  the 
wall  of  habit  and  convention  and  with  his  very  first  essay  succeeded  in   making  his 
name  famous.      Not  of  course  that  he  was  yet  a  finished  artist,  for  on  the  stage,  as  in 
all  other  arts,,  there  can  be  no  exception  to  test  the  rule  that  the  wise  artist  is  the  pro- 
duct of  labor  and  experience.      But  his  genius  was  so  marked  that  when  he  was  but 
fourteen  years  of  age  he  was  engaged  to  play  the  part  of  Saul  which  afterward  be- 
came one  of  his  great  triumphs.      The  lack  of  space  will  not  allow  a  detailed  story  of 
Salvini's  life  nor  any  criticism  upon  his  principal  parts.      He  was  born  at  Naples  on 
January   i,   1829,  and  was  the  son  of  a  professor  of  literature.      His  mother,   who 
died  when  he  was  two  years  old,  was  an  actress  of  great  beauty.      It  was  in  1847 
when  playing  Orestes  to  the  Electra  of  1-listori  that  he  won  his  title  of  tragic  actor; 
and  he  was  only  nineteen.     When  he  came  to  this  country  it  was  as  Othello  that  he 
met  with  his  greatest  success.     It  was  a  part  in  which  for  a  long  time  his  country- 
men, slaves  to  the  Aristotelian  limits  of  classic  tragedy,  refused  to  accept  him. 


V- 


—6- 


iFrom  11  photuKnipIl  liy  SarDiiy.  Nov  Vnrli.l 


REJANE. 


V  the  majority  of  per- 
sons   in   this  country 
the  name  of   Mme. 
Rejane  had  never  been  heard  be- 
fore  the  newspapers  related  the 
remarkable  success  she  had  met  with  in  the  title  role  of 
Sardou  and  Moreau's  play,  "  Madame  Sans-Gene."     But  Paris 
had  for  many  years  back  recognized  in  her  one  of  its   greatest 
artists,   so    that  whenever    Rejane   created  a  new  character  it 
was  on  the  boulevards  the  topic  of  the  moment.      Her  perform- 
ance of  the  ci-devant  washerwoman  who   became  a  duchess  ir* 
le  court  of  Napoleon   I. — which  tried  so   hard,  and   yet    in  vain, 
not  to  be  vulgar — is  not  more  perfect  than   many  that  have  pre- 
ceded it,   but  it  is  the    one  with  which  her  name   will   be    most 
closely  connected  by  the  world  at  large.     Many  a  time  has  she 
played  the  heroine  of  low  life;  again  and  again    has  she  repro- 
duced the  grantie  daiiie  of  the    noble   Faubourg.      In  "  Madame 
Sans-Gene,"  Rejane  has  an  opportunity,  as  one  of  her  critics  has 
remarked,  '•  to  bring  all  her  roles  into  one  focus,  exhibit  her  whole 
wardrobe  and  yet  remain  one  and  the  same  person,  compress  intO' 
one  evening  the  whole  of  her  life."     A  most  wonderful  bit  of  por- 
traiture is  her  Madame  la  Marechale  Lefebvre,  Duchesse  de  Dantzic — who,  by 
the  way,  was  never  known  as  Madame  Sans-Gene  until  Sardou  borrowed   for 
er  the  nom  de  guerre  of  Thercse  Figueur,  the  woman  dragoon  of  the  French 
revolution.      The  incidents  of  the  play  may  not  be  history,  but  Madame   Rejane's- 
^       performance,  one  feels  instinctively,  does  present  a  true  portrait  of  the  womanwho.se 
4\  body  now  lies  in  Pere  la  Chaise,  "by  the  side  of  her  illustrious  husband,"  to  quote 

\        .     from  the  inscription  on  her  tomb :  the  woman  whose  peculiarities  of  language  were 
suitable  enough  to  the  court  of  Josephine,  but  which  Napoleon  would  not  tolerate 
once  he  had  married  the  daughter  of  an  Emperor  of  Austria.       But,  as  we  have 
already  stated,  Madame  Rejane  had  become  famous  long  before  she  added  this  char- 
acter to   her  repertoire.     At  the  Conservatoire,  in  Paris,  she  had  divided  a  second 
prize  with  Samary,  of  the   perfect   laugh,  but  Francisque  .Sarcey,   the   all-powerful, 
thought  at  the  time  that  she  had  deserved  a  first,  and  predicted  for  her  a   great 
future  in  her  profession.      That  was  enough  to  gain  for  her  an  immediate  engage- 
ment at  the  \'audeville,  whose  director,  M.  Porl,  she  afterward  married,  and  where 
ff£)      to-day  she  reigns  supreme.     She  was  saved  from  the  Comedie  Frangaise,  from  the 
depressing  care  a  first  prize  might  have  forced  her  to  accept  under  the  wings  of  the 
estimable  director  of  the  House  of  Moliere.      She  made  her  debut  in  "  La  Revue  des- 
Deux   Mondes,"  and  met  with  her  first  great   success  as  Gabrielle  in  "Pierre."     Then, 
after  nearly  seven  years  on  the  boards  of  the  Vaudeville,  during  which  period  she  was- 
improving  with  each  dramatic  creation,  she    appeared  at  the  Theatre  des  Panoramas. 
Thence  to  the  Ambigu,  where  her  interpretation  of  Madame  Cezambre  in  Richepin's- 
"  La  Glu"  made  a  sensation;  from  there   to  the  A'arictcs ;  then  flitting  for  a  time  be- 
tween her  first  love  and  her  latest,  she   threw  both  over  to  accept  an  engagement  at 
the  Odeon.      There  she  rather  disappointed  her  admirers  by  her  performance  in  the 
first  production  of  Alfred  de   Musset's  "Fantasie."     But  it  was  not  her  fault.     The 
part  was  a  bad  one,  the   truth  being  that  the  play  was  written  for  the  library  and  not 
.■     for  the  stage.      ]5ut  she  had  won  high  praise  from  the  critics  for  her  performance  of 
the  title  part  in  Jules  de  Goncourt's  adaptation  of  "  Germinie  Lacerteux, "  written  in 
collaboration  with  his  brother.      A  furious  battle  was  waged  against  the  author  on  the 
first  night,  but  Rejane  came  out  of  it  triumphant.      The  \'audeville  has  lately  recap- 
tured the  fascinating  actress,  whose  very  name  (it  was  Reju  before  she  went  on  the- 
stage)  suggests  the  jolly-looking   woman  (rejouie)  that  she  is,  and   there  she  is  queen. 
During  her  visit  to  these  shores,  she  has  played,  or  will  play,  besides  "Madame   Sans- 
Gene,"  Daudet's   "Sapho,"   Nora  in  Ibsen's   "Doll's  House,"   in    "Divor^ons,"   and    in- 
'  Ma  Cousine."     Madame  Rejane  has  not  that   reverence  for    the  Comedie   Frangaise  that 
enjoys   in   this   country.       She    considers   it   no   longer   has    any   influence   on    the    Frencli 
-in  short,  that  its  day  is  past. 


(I  n.in  ,,  |.l,..t...;,..ph   l.^     K.  nlliM...  i.    1  . 


WHEN  Mr.  Frederick  Pauld- 
ing became  a  play-actor  it 
was  a  very  rare  thing  indeed  for 
persons  who  belonged  to  what  is  vulgarly 
known  as  "society"  to  adopt  the  stage  as 
a  profession.      His  father,   whose  name  was       SjCiS 
Dodge,  wrs  a  West  Pointer.      His  mother  was        ^ 

a  daughter  of  Admiral  Paulding.     To  be  the  son  of  a  Dodge  and  a  Paulding  may  not 
have  any  significance  in  the  wild  and  woolly  West,  but  in  Eastern  New  York — and  more 
so  in  the  seventies  than  to-day,  when  the  sacred  barriers  that  guarded  the  blue  blood 
of  the  Empire  State  have  been  trampled  down  by  iwiivfaux  riches — it  carried  with  it 
.     certain  obligations  of  rank.      To  play  Bertuccio  in  "The  Fool's  Revenge''  was  not 
5^      one  of  those  obligations.      It  was  in  this  part  that  Mr.  Paulding  made  his  first  pro- 
.'/   ■        fessional  bow  before  a  New  York  audience  in  the  year  of  grace  one  thousand  eight 
hundred  and  seventy-nine,  and  "his  world"  received  it  with  wild  enthusiasm.    The  young 
aspirant  to  dramatic  laurels  had,  however,  found  that  a  prejudice  against  amateurs  existed 
among  theatrical  managers  which  even  the  published  statement  that  he  was  a  relative  of 
Henry  Irving  could  not  overcome.     He  had,  therefore,  to  lease  the  Fourteenth  Street 
Theater,  then  known  as  the  Lyceum,  to  gain  a  hearing.     He  was  a  mere  lad  at  the 
tmie,  scarcely  out  of  his  teens.     At  his  age  only  a  heaven-born  genius  could  give 
^■'^is*^      fitting  expression  to  the  profound  emotions  and  violent  passions  of  a  Bertuccio. 
^Y^  *        He  did  not  succeed  in  reaching  at  one  bound  the  position  that  it  had  taken  his 
S'C  ■   '^-'       relative  John  Henry  Brodrib  nearly  twenty  years  to  attain,  but  he  showed  himself  to 
%    £-  '  possess  a  great  deal  of  talent,  which  only  required  application  and  training  to  place  him 

high  in  1ms  profession.      His  youthful  ardor  led  him  a  week  later  to  present  himself  be- 
fore the  public  in  the  character  of  Hamlet,  and  he  succeeded  in  giving  a  very  respectable 
performance.     As  Claude  Melnotte  he  gave  promise  of  better  things. 
Before  his  first  season  was  over  Mr.  Paulding  had  played  Macbeth, 
Shylock  and   Romeo.      When  he  returned  to  New  York  in  the  fol- 
lowing year  at  the  Union  Square  Theater  in  "  The  Lover's  Life," 
he  had  vastly  improved  as  an  actor,  and  was  making  headway  in 
his  profession,   but  his  health  gave  way,  and  for  a  time  he  re- 
tired from  the  stage.      On  his  recovery  he  became  a  member 
of  Fanny  Davenport's  company,  and  in    1S84  joined  Frank 
Mayo,  creating  in  that  year  the  roles  of  I'rince  Leo  in  "  Nor- 
deck  "  and  Tom  Cooper  in  "  Shadows  of  a  Great  City."     For 
the  following  six  seasons  he  was  Miss  Margaret  Mather's  lead- 
ing man,  and  played  Romeo  to  her  Juliet  seven  hundred  and 
fifty  times.      During  this  period  he  also  appeared  as  Rudolph 
m  "  Leah,  the  Forsaken,"  as  Del  Monte  in  "The  Sea  of  Ice," 
as  Comparchi  in   "The  Lily  of  Yeddo,"  and  created  the  role  o 
Philip  Heme.      He  then  became  the  leading  man  of  the  Jefferson- 
Florence    combination.       Mr.    I'aulding   fell   heir  to   a  melodrama, 
•'  The  Struggle  for  Life,  '  and  produced  it  at  the  Standard  Theater. 
New    York,   in    1891.       It    was  written    by  his   uncle,    William  Irving 
Paulding,  who  had  left  him   a  handsome  sum  to  insure  its  pro- 
duction.     Frederick  Paulding  played  the  leading  part,  and  staged 
the  jiiece  magnificently.      He  sold  it  and  then  returned  to  legitimate 
drama  in  the  company  of  Thomas  L.  Keene. 


MRS.  KENDAL. 


PLAYERS  earn  greater  respect  when  they 
are  reticent  about  their  private  proceed- 
ings, and  draw  a  marked  distinction  be- 
tween their  lives  as  individuals  and  as  public  persons.     We 
should  not  find  the  press  poking  fun  at  so  great  an  artist  as 
Mrs.  Kendal  had  she  not  been  very  obtuse  in  this  respect,  were 
she  not  so  weak  as  to  make  remarks  on  a  subject  concerning  which 
^^^  theatrical  audiences  have  no  right  or  business  to  inquire.     It  does  not  ap- 

"•^^  pear  to  strike  her  that  if  her  audiences  were  worryinglhemselves  as  to 
whether  William  Hunter  Grimstonand  .Margaret  Brunton  Robertson  had  been 
lawfully  joined  together  in  holy  matrimony  and  were  keeping  the  vows  they  made 
at  the  altar  of  a  .Slanchester  church,  the  dramatic  situation  of  such  a  reunion,  for  instance, 
as  that  of  Lord  and  Lady  Clancarty,  would  be  greatly  weakened.  ''.Some  persons,"  Mrs. 
Kendal  has  told  the  public,  "say  they  like  to  see  us  act  together — that  the  very  fact  of 
knowing  that  we  are  man  and  wife  gives  them  a  certain  satisfaction  in  witnessing  our  per- 
formance, which  theywould  not  otherwise  feel."  Some  persons  are  idiots.  Others  are  not. 
The  sane  amateur  of  the  drama  pays  for  his  seat  not  to  see  Mrs.  Crimston,  the  embodi- 
ment of  all  domestic  virtues,  but  to  enjoy  the  art  of  Mrs.  Kendal,  one  of  the  most  finished 
actresses  of  her  time.  How  she  reached  that  position  we  will  relate  :  Margaret  Robertson, 
or  '•  Madge  "  Robertson,  as  she  was  called  before  she  married,  was  born  in  Lincolnshire, 
England,  on  March  15,  1849.  Her  father,  a  Scotchman,  was  a  well-known  provincial 
actor  and  manager  in  his  day,  and  her  mother  was  an  actress  who  bore  her  husband 
twelve  children.  The  eldest  of  these  was  "  Tom  "  Robertson,  the  author  of  •'  Caste." 
"Ours,"  "School,"  etc.  Little  Madge  made  her  debut  in  "The  Stranger"  when  she 
was  only  four  years  old,  at  the  Marylebone  Theatre,  London,  which  her  father  was  then 
managing  m  partnership  with  J.  W.,  known  in  this  country  as  "The  Elder"  Wallack. 
.At  this  time,  in  London,  H.\"andenhoff  was  playing  Macduff  to  Wallack's  Macbeth  ;  E.L. 
Davenport,  the  fatherof  Fanny  Davenport,  was  appearing  in  "Hamlet"  and  "Othello," 
with  his  wife,  Fanny  \'ining,  and  T.  P.  Cooke  was  fascinating  the  town  with  his  original 
creation  of  William  in  "  Black-eyed  Susan."  In  1S55,  we  find  Madge  appearing asEvain 
"  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  at  the  Bristol  Theatre.  It  was  at  this  theater  and  at  the  one  at 
Bath,  that  Miss  Robertson  gained  most  of  her  early  stage  experience.  There  was  no 
oetter  training  school  in  England  in  those  days.  One  of  the  company  was  Ellen  Terry,  and  the  two  often  danced  or  sung  together 
in  burletta  and  burlesque.  In  1863,  Madge  played  one  of  the  Gentlewomen  in  "Much  .Ado  About  Nothing,"  to  the  Beatrice  of  Kate 
Terry  (.Mrs.  Lewis)  and  the  Hero  of  Ellen.  When  she  was  sixteen,  she  had  become  an  experienced  actress  and  made  her  London 
debut  at  the  old  Haymarket  Theatre  as  Ophelia  to  the  Hamlet  of  a  Mr.  Montgomery.  The  actor  was  too  provincial  for  London 
tastes,  and  Miss  Robertson  does  not  appear  to  have  attracted  much  attention  at  that  time.  In  1867,  she  joined  the  regular  Hay- 
market  company  under  Buckstone's  management,  where  she  played  with  .Sothern.  She  left  the  company  for  a  short  space,  but  re- 
joined it  in  l»69.  In  .August  of  that  year  she  was  married  to  William  Hunter  Grimston,  known  on  the  stage  as  W.  H.  Kendal. 
Two  months  later  Madge  Robertson — for  her  maiden  name  still  appeared  on  the  play  bills — created  the  character  of  Lilian  A'avasour 
in  "New  .Men  and  Old  Acres,"  at  Manchester.  The  next  year  commenced  that  series  of  blank-verse  comedies  which  made  the  repu- 
tations of  the  Kendals  and  of  W.  S.  (Gilbert.  "  Pygmalion  and  Galatea, "  preceded  by  "  The  Palace  of  Truth,"  and  followed  by 
"The  Wicked  World,"  was  the  most  successful,  and  all  London  flocked  to  see  Mrs.  Kendal's  fascinating  Galatea.  Nearly  a 
quarter  of  a  century  has  passed  since  then,  but  it  still  remains  impressed  on  my  memory  as  one  of  the  most  perfect  creations  I  ever 
beheld.  After  five  and  a  half  years  with  the  Haymarket  company  and  a  short  time  at  the  Opera  Coniique,  the  Kendals  joined  forces 
with  John  Hare  at  the  Court  "Theatre.  Mrs.  Kendal's  greatest  success  there  was  as  Susan  Hartley  in  a  "Scrap  of  Paper."  The 
Kendals  now  went  over  to  the  Bancrofts  at  the  Prince  of  Wales'  Theatre  and  Mrs.  Kendal  made  a  hit  as  Lady  Ormond  in  "  Peril  " 
("  Nos  Intimes  ")  then  as  Lady  Gay  Spanker  and  afterward  as  Dora  in  "  Diplomacy."  The  Kendals  returned  to  Hare  and  joined 
him  in  the  management  of  the  St.  James's  Theatre.  For  seven  seasons  the  St.  James  was,  if  not  the  most  financially  successful, 
at  any  rate  the  most  fashionable  theater  in  London.  Mrs.  Kendal  then  achieved  undisputed  rank  as  the  best  of  English  actresses 
within  the  lines  laid  down  by  herself.      In  1889  she  and  her  husband  came  to  this  country. 


(I'roin  a  phntograpli  l)y  S.intny,  New  \nrk.) 


/ 


appear  to  have  shown  any  early   predilection  for  the  stage,  nor 
did  any  theatrical  blood  flow  in  his  veins.      His  parents  had  intended  him 
for  a  doctor,  but  he  preferred  to  try  and  earn  a  living  with  his  pencil.     It 
was  his  love  of  drawing  that  led  to  his  adopting  the  stage,  and  so   be- 
coming the  husband  of  "  Madge"  Robertson.     When  he  was  a  lad  of 
eighteen,  he  strolled  one  evening  into  the  pit  of  the  Royalty  in  Soho 
and  commenced  to  make  thumb-nail  sketches  of  the  characters  in 
the  burlesque  being  played.     It  happened  that  the  manager  of  the 
theater  was    attracted   by  the  clever  sketches  of   the  young  artist 
and  was  so  pleased  with  Mr.   Grimston's  talent  that  he  gave  him 
not  only  the  entree  to  his  theater,   but  permission  to  go  behind  the 
scenes  whenever  he  liked.       It  was  not  long   before  he  was  bitten  by 
a  desire  to  make  a  fame  for  himself  on  the  boards.      At  first  he  had  to 
be  satisfied  with  the  position  of  a  "supe."  in  order  that  he  might  gain  his 
stage  legs,  but  after  a  short  time  he  was  promoted  to   the   dignity 
of  a  speaking  part — that  of  a  young   lover   in  "A  Wonderful 
Woman."     In  the  spring  of  1862   he  was  engaged  to  play 
in  Birmingham,  but  the  management  failed  and  Kendal         < 
found    himself    stranded.       But    a   few   months   of 
inconvenience    were    followed    by  four    years  of 
first-class   e.xperience  at  the   Theatre   Royal  in 
Glasgow.      Charles  Mathews   recognized   pos- 
sibilities in  the  young  man  and  took  him  to       - 
London.      In  October,   1866,  he  appeared         ■ 
at  the  Haymarket  as  Augustus  Mandeville         / 
in  "A  Dangerous  Friend,"  and  soon  after        ' 
became  a  permanent  member  of  the  stock       ! 
company  of  that  theater.      In  1S67  he  played      '1 
Romeo  and  Orlando  to  the  Juliet  and  Rosa- 
lind of  Mrs.    Scott-Siddons.       On  August  7.      \ 
1869.    he   was  married  at  St.  Savior's  Church, 
Manchester,  to  Miss  Madge  Robertson,  who  had 
recently  joined  the  Haymarket  company.      Mr.  Ken- 
;"    dal  became  Buckstone's  advisor  on  plays,  and  to  him  we 
owe  the  production  of   "New  Men  and  Old  Acres."     It  had 
gone   the  round  of  nearly  every  management  in  London,   and. 
affording  a    curious  instance  of  the  short-sightedness  which  managers 
..;ially  exhibit,  was  rejected  by  all.      It  found  a  resting-place  at  the  Haymarket. 
where,  after  having  been  pigeon-holed  for  some  time,  it  came  into  Mr.  Kendal's  hands.      He  was 
immensely  struck  by  the  play,  and  told  Buckstone  so,  but  the  veteran  actor  would  have  nothing  to  do        tss^^ 
with  it,  until,  wearied  of  Kendal's  importunities,  he  said:   "As  you  think  so  highly  of  it,  you  can  play  it  at  your  -^^ 

wife's  benefit  at  Manchester."     Its  success  was  enormous.      Kendal's  later  theatrical  e.xperiences  are  those  of  his  wife. 


v?-% 


il-'roma  pliuiograph  by  ^armiy,  New  York.) 


the  wife  of  Mr.  McDowell, 


THE  name  of  Davenport  has  long  been  connected 
with  the  triumphs  of  the  English  speaking  stage.      In  the  last 
^■,-w-\  century,  Mary  Anne  Davenport,  the  original  Deborah  Dowlas  in 

')_ji^  "The   Heir-at-Law,"  was  among  the  most  famous  actresses  of  her  day, 

^*'*'       and  her   husband   was  a   player  of  some   reputation.      Edward   Loomis 
Davenport,  father  of  the  subject  of  this  sketch,  was  one  of  the  most  finished 
actors  on  the  American  stage,  and  was  equally  successful  in  comedy  and  tragedy. 
In  1847  he  visited  London,  and  while  supporting  William   C.  Macready  wooed 
and  won  Miss  Fanny  Elizabeth  X'ining,  who  was  a  member  of  the  same 
company.      It  was  in  London,  on  April   10,  1850,  that  their  first  child, 
who  was  christened  Fanny  Lily  Gipsy,  was  born.     The  Davenports  re- 
turned to  this  country  with  three  little  daughters,  the  second  of  whom, 
Blanche,  was  afterward  well  known  as  a  singer.      Fanny's  early  education 
was  received  in  Boston,  her  father  being  at  that  time  manager  of  the 
Howard    Athen;eum.     John   i\IcCullough    and   Lawrence    Barrett    were 
then   leading  men   in  her  father's  theater,  and   Edwin  Booth  was  a  fre- 
quent guest   at   his  table.      Brought  up  amid   such  surroundings,  with 
theatrical  blood  from  both  sides  of  the  house  in  her  veins,  and  with  the 
buzz  of  stage  gossip  being  continually  drummed  into  her  ears — for,  of  all 
the  people  in  the  world,  actors  and  actresses  are  the  most  shoppy — 
it  was  only  natural  that   Fanny  should   become   "stage   struck." 
She  was  yet  in  the  nursery  when  she  wrote  a  play  and  acted  it 
with  her  sister  before  a  most  sympathetic  audience  of  children, 
cooks  and  nurses,  gathered  from  the  neighborhood.      By  the  time 
she  was  twelve  she  had  read  and  re-read  nearly  all  the  hundreds 
of  standard  plays  in  her  father's  library.     She  was  still  a  child  when 
she  made   her  first  public   appearance  at  the  Athenaeum  in  "  Meta- 
mora,"and  she  was   only   eleven   when  she  played   for  the  first 
time  in  New  York,  at  Niblo's  Garden,  the  role  of  the  King  of 
Spain    in   "Faint  Heart  Never  Won  Fair  Lady."     For  a  time 
she  took  soubrette  parts  with  a  traveling  company  in  the  South, 
and  then   obtained   an   engagement  from  Mrs.  John  Drew,  who 
was  then   managing  the   Arch   Street  Theater  in   Philadelphia. 
While   there   she   attracted  the  attention  of  Augustin  Daly,  who 
had  lately  opened  the    Fifth  Avenue   Theater   in    Twenty-fourth 
street.  New  York.     There,  in  1869,  he  introduced  Miss  Davenport 
to  his   patrons,  and  there  she   played   with  considerable  success 
such  parts  as  Lady  Gay  Spanker  in  "London  Assurance,"  Rosalind 
in  "As  You  Like  It,"  Nancy  Sykes  in  "  Oliver  Twist,"  Lady  Teazle 
in  "The  School  for  Scandal,"  and  the   title   role   in    "Leah."     Her 
great  success  at  this  theater  was  made  in  the  role  of  Mabel  Renfrew 
in  "  Pique,"  which  ran  for  two  hundred  and  fifty  nights.      In  those  days 
New  York's  knowledge  of  French  was  very  poor,  and  wonderful,  indeed, 
were  the  variations  of  pronounciation  through  which  the  title  of  the  play  went :  pikeway, 
pike  and  pick  were  some  of  them.      Then  Miss  Davenport  took  to  starring,  and 
^_-       became  a  great  favorite  with  theater-goers  all  over  the  Union.      Of  late  years  she 
has  principally  devoted  herself  to  playing  Sarah  Bernhardt's  most  successful  roles, 
and  to  her  we  owe  remarkably  fine  productions  in  English  of  Sardou's  masterpieces- — notably  the 
latest,   "Gismonda, "   which  has  been    most  lavishlv  and   artistically  staged.      Miss    Davenport  is 
her  leading  man. 


-16- 


"■^Ss^^**.^ 


BARRETT.    5p 

ARLVLE  has  said  that  "it  was  not  till  the  nineteenth  century,  whose 
speculative  genius    is   a   sort   of   living  Hamlet,   that   the  tragedy   of 
'Hamlet'    could    find    such    wondering    readers."      Each    of    these 
wondering  readers"    has  formed  an  opinion,    more  or  less  differing  from 
those  of  the  other  readers,  as  to  how  the  part  of  the  melancholy  Dane 
should  be  played.      Nearly  every  English-speaking  actor  or  player  of  Ger- 
man birth  fancies  he  can  throw  some  new  light  upon  a  character  which, 
thanks  to  the  elucidators  of  the  divine  William's  meanings,  has  become  a 
hopelessly    mvolved   dramatic    problem.     The    result    is  that   every  new 
Hamlet  attempts  to  be  "original,"  and  that  the  variety  of  views  on  the 
merits  or  demerits  of  the  performance  is  only  limited  to  the  number  of 
those  who  have  seen  it  or  read  of  it.      So  that  when  l\Ir.  Wilson  Barrett 
appeared  as  Hamlet  in   1S84  at  the  Princess's  Theatre,  London,  we  are 
not  surprised  to  find  that  one  critic  .said,  "it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that 
it  restores  to  the  stage  both  the  text  and  the  spirit   of  the  play,"  while 
another  declared  that  Mr.  Barrett  "  has  "  the  honor  of  having  discovered 
that  the  heart  of  Hamlet's  mystery  is  a  certain  hoiir^cois  stupidity,  of  hav- 
ing been   the  first  to  perceive  that  Hamlet  is  an  incarnation  of  the  lower 
middle-class   character   and   the    lower   middle-class   intelligence."     Mr. 
Barrett  played  the  part  for  one  hundred  and  seventeen  successive  nights. 
But  the  British  public   had  accepted  Henry   Irving's  Hamlet  and  would 
have  none  other.     Far  better  had  it  been  for  Mr.  Barrett  had  he  stuck  to 
his  last — melodrama — in  which  he  had  gained  for  himself  both  fame  and 
fortune.     .After  many  years  of  up-hill  work,  Mr.  Barrett  was,  in  iSSi,  of- 
fered George  H.  Sims's  "The  Lights  of  London."     Jt  had 
been  a-begging  for  some  time,   but  no  manager   cared 
touch  it.      It  made  thousands  of  dollars  for  Sims  and 
Barrett,  and  taught  the  world  that  the  one  had  the  mak- 
mgs  of  a  dramatist  and  the  other  of  an  actor.     As 
Harold    Armytage,    Barrett  appeared  for  nearly   three 
hundred  nights  in  succession,  and  then  followed  with  an 
equally  big  hit.  Jack  Hearn,  the  gypsy  lover  in  ' '  Romany 
ye."     Then  came  "  The  Silver  King,"  by  Messrs.  Herman 
and  Jones.    It  is  doubtful  whether  any  play  of  modern  times 
has  more  forcibly  touched  the  public  heart  than  this 
piece,  or  more  successfully  tapped  the  public  pocket. 
.As  Wilfred  Denver,  Barrett  far  surpassed  anything  he  had 
done  previously,  and  we  doubt  if  he  has  done  anything 
equally  good  since.    "  Claudiau, "  by  Wills  and  Herman, 
and   "  Chatterton,"  followed,  and  then  came  "  Ham- 
let," with  Miss  Eastlake  as  Ophelia.     His  ne.xt  venture 
was  as  Jack  Veulett  in  Henry  Arthur  Jones's  "Hood- 
man  Blind,"  and  in  1886  he  produced  "  Clito. "      "  Ben 
Ma   Chree  "  and   "The    Man.xman "    have  also  been 
added  to  his  repertoire,  both  adapted  by  Mr.   Barrett 

from  Hall  Caine's  novels.      Mr.  Barrett  first  came  to  this  country  in  1886,  and  has  since- 
paid  us  many  visits. 


\1  rum  a  i>lu>t<'^;r.-ii'li  I'V  l..irr.iu.l,  lomioii,   l.iiKiuiui.i 


,-« 


%■ 


,-l 


«c- 


V— 


'E\V  actresses  don  the 
sock  and  buskin  with 
so  many  natural  ad- 
vantages as   did   Rose 
Coghlan.      She    was 
fifteen  years  old  when 
she    made    her  theatrical 
debut.      She  was  fair  to  look 
upon,  possessed  a  remarkably 
rich  voice  and   exhibited   decided 
dramatic   talent.      That    debut    was 
made  in  1866.    Since  then,  Miss  Cogh- 
lan has  developed  into  one  of  the  leading 
actresses  on  the  English-speaking  stage, 

and  there  was  a  time  when,  as  "leading  lady  "  at  Wallack's  Theatre,  none  was  rpore 
popular  in  this  country  than  she.      Born  in  March,  185  i,  at  Peterborough,  England, 
'       Rose  Coghlan  made  her  first  public  appearance  at  Greenock,  Scotland,  as  one  of 
Aa.'mv'-  '■.^Vi  >■'  a.     ''^^  witches   in  "Macbeth."     She  drifted  from  tragedy  into  burlesque,  appearing  as 

,/^' ,   iiV-T  i    i^:P^^i>ii\  Cupid  in  "  Ixion,  or  the  Man  at  the  Wheel."     An  engagement  followed  to  play 

'Sr— ^^-^3  i(lfe''>"-^^^^^i^^     soubrette  parts  at  the  Theatre  Royal,  Cheltenham.      There  she  soon  stepped  into 
^^Sn--'^^v?_  *^'^     the  shoes  of  a  disgruntled  "leading  lady  "and  gained  sufficient  renown  to  entitle  her 

'  "      to  a  hearing  at  the  London  Gaiety  Theatre,  where  she  made  her  first  appearance 
as  Tilda  Price  in  "Nicholas  Nickelby."     In  1871  she  paid  her  first  visit  to   this 
country.     She  played  "  The  Woman  in  White,"  but  the  piece  proved  a  failure,  and 
she  joined   Lydia  Thompson's  burlesque  company.      E.  A.  Sothern  was  at  that 
time   at  the  Star  (then  Wallack's)  Theatre,  in  New  York.      He  persuaded  Miss 
Coghlan  to  join  his  forces.     Her  rollicking  humor  as  Mrs.  Honeyton  in  "The  Happy 
Pair,"  and  in  similar  light  trifles,  so  pleased  Lester  Wallack  that  he  engaged  her  for 
the  following  season.     In  the  meantime  she  returned  to  England,  met  with  great  suc- 
cess in  a  series  of  Shakespearean  revivals,  and  threw  up  her  New  York  engagement.   Mr. 
Wallack,  however,  offered  her  the  position  of  "leading  lady"  in  his  company,  and 
in   18S0  she  again  appeared  in  New  York  and  at  once  became  an  immense  favor- 
ite  with    the   theater-going   public  of  the   metropolis.       Her    Countess    Zicka,  in 
"Diplomacy,"  was  perhaps  the  most  memorable  of  her  performances  during  this 
engagement.     When  Lester  Wallack  and  his  e.xcellent  company  moved  to  his  new 
"     theater  (now  Palmer's),  Miss  Coghlan  went  with  it  and  continued  to  play  there 
until  18S5.    At  the  commencement  of  the  season  of  18S7-8S  she  joined  the  Abbey- 
'   Wallack  company,  but  threw  up  her  engagement  rather  than  play  the  part  for  which 
she  was  cast  in  "  L'.-Xbbe  Constantin."     She  returned  to  it,  however,  to  play  in  the 
revivals  of  some  of  the  old  comedies  which  signalized  the  close  of  Wallack's  Theater 
as  the  home  of  a  stock  company.      Miss  Coghlan  then  took  to  starring  in  "  Jocelyn  " 
and  "  Lady  Barter,"  both  written  by  her  brother,  and  has  added  a  number  of  new  roles 
to  her  repertoire.      As  Lady  Gay  Spanker,  Countess  Zicka  and  Stephani,  Miss  Coghlan  h.as 
no  equal  in  this  country',  nor  have  we  seen  a  Peg  Woffington,  save  Marie  Bancroft's,  that  can  compare  with  hers. 


(From  n  photograph  by  Sarony,  New  York.> 


J'^X  KX 


on  the  road  as  C 

of  Augustin  Daly's  company 


R.     FRANCIS      CARLYLE 
made    his    first    appearance 
about   thirty   years   ago,   at 
I5irkenhead,  England.      But,  as  his 
parents  migrated  to  this    country 
when  he  was  a  mere  child,  since 
he  was  brought  up  at  Hartford, 
Conn.,  has  forsworn  "  allegiance 
to  all  foreign  potentates,  espe- 
cially A'ictoria.  Queen  of  Great 
Britain  and  Ireland,"  and  has  v 

•    never  returned  to  his  native 
heath  ;   even  ' '  the   Society  for 
the   Protection  of   Native  Dramatic 
talent" — or  whatever    it    calls    itself  — 
can  find  no  just  cause  or  impediment  wh; 
he  should  not  call  himself  an  American  acto'. 
Mr.  Carlvle— he  changed  his  name  with  his  na- 
tionality—adopted the  stage  as  a  profession  in 
1S84,   and   got  his   first   engagement   from   Mr. 
Dan    Frohman,    who   was    then    managing   the 
Madison  Square  Theater  in  New  York.    He  then 
acted  for  a  season  with  Lotta,  during  which  he 
plaved   half-a-dozen   different  parts,  and  made  a 
particular  hit  as  Dick  Swiveller  in  •' Little  Nell." 
He  next  appeared  with  a  road  company  as  Doug- 
las Winthrop  in  "Young  Mrs.  Winthrop."      Then 
came  a  season  with  Arthur  Rehan's  company  on 
the   road.      When  "Allan   Dare,"  adopted   from 
Admiral  Porter's  novel  of  "Allan  Dare  and  Rob- 
ert le  Diable."  was  produced  at  the  Fifth  Avenue 
(New  York)  Theater,  in  the  fall  of  1887,  Mr.Car- 
lyle   played   the   title  role,  Mr.  Wilton  Lackaye 
taking  the  part  of  his  twin  brother.  Mr.Carlyle 
was  excellent  in  the  part,  but  the  play  did  not     ' 
prove  a  success  and  was  soon  taken  off   the 
boards.      The  same   fate    attended    the    ne.\t 
piece   in    which    he    performed  —  "Rudolph, 
Baron  von  Hallenstein,"  by  Bronson  Howard 
^^,-^       ■       ..,-.  and   David   lielasco.      Mr.  Carlyle  was  now  en- 

^iSsS^     t^'--^V     gaged  to  play  leading   parts  at  the  old   California         ,^ -^^ 
.j.?^.._^0      <~  uJ^      Theater  in  San  Francisco.       He  then   joined  the   New 

York  Lyceum  company.      He   has  since  made  a  great  hit 
:aptain  West  in  "Shenandoah,"  and,  in  "In  Mizzoura,"  created  the  part  of  Robert  Travers. 


mM 


He  is  now  a  member 


Krolu  ft  phcito^raplt  by  Kiilk,  New  York  J 


ISS  MAXINE  ELLIOTT'S  rich,  dark  beauty  is  so  remarkable  and  has  been  so 
much  discussed  since  she  first  made  her  appearance  in  pubhc,  that  most  of  her 
critics,  we  imagine,  have,  while  extolling  her  good  looks,  lost  sight  of  the  fact 
that  she  is  one  of  the  most  promising  young  actresses  on  the  American  stage  to-day,  as 
well  as  one  of  the  most  beautiful.    During  her  short  experience,  she  has  made  a  marked 
progress  in  her  art.     Moreover,  she  recognizes  how  very  long  that  art  is.     This  gives 
promise  of  even  better  things  in  the  future.     Speak  approvingly  of  her  performance  in 
"  Diplomacy,"  and  she  will  tell  you  that  her  Dora,  especially  in  the  third  act,  falls  very 
far  short  of  what  she  feels  the  true  Dora  should  be.      "I  have,  m  four  years, 
earned  how  little  I  know  about  acting."  she  will  add,  "and  that  is  something 
to  have  discovered."     It  was  in  a  very  small  part  in  "The  Middleman" 
that  Miss  Elliott  started  on  her  journey  of  discovery  in  1891,  and  Mr. 
Willard  was  so  pleased  with  the  talent  she  displayed  that  he  cast  her  for 
the  far  more  important  roles  of  Sophie  Jnpp  in  "  Judah,"  and  Beatrice 
Sehvyn  in  "A  Eool's  Paradise."     She  had  the  good  luck  to  be  with  Mr. 
Willard  when  he  first  produced  that  idyll  of  J.  M.  Barrie,  "The  Pro- 
fessor's Love  Story,"  and  so  created  the  part  of  Lady  Gilding.     After 
spending  two  years  with  Mr.  WiUard's  company.  Miss  Elliott  took  the 
place   of    Charlotte   Tittell   as   Violet   Woodman    in  "The    Prodigal 
Daughter,"  and  then  played  Kate  Malcolm  in  "Sister  Mary,"  with 
;;;^\     Leonard  Boyne  and  Julia  Arthur  in  the  leading  parts.     It  was  the 
'*!^     best  role  Miss  Elliott  had  so  far  been  cast  for,  and  in  it  she  put 
r     some  excellent  comedy  touches.     From  September,  1894,  to  the 
be^nning  of  this  year,  the  subject  of  this  sketch  was  with  Rose  Cogh- 
i\    fan's  company  playing  Dora  in  "  Diplomacy, "  Grace  Harkaway  in  "  Lon- 
don Assurance,"  Mrs.  AUenby  in  "A  Woman  of  No  Importance,"  and 
Alice  Verney  in  "  Forget  Me  Not."     Dora  is  a  great  part,  and  when 
Sardou  wrote  the  play  and  called  it  "  Dora  "  he  intended  it  so  to  be 
considered.      As  Julian  Beauclerc's  wife.  Miss  Elliot  proved  herself  a 
very  charming  artiste  and,  as   Mrs.  Allenby,   a  very  capable   one. 
She  is  now  a  member  of  .Augustin  Daly's  company  and  made  her 
first  appearance  in  it  as  Heart  of  Ruby  in  a  translation  of  Judith 
Gautier's  "La  Marchande  de  Sourires. "    The  piece  was  not  a  success, 
but  through  no  fault  of  the  company  or  stage  manager.     Miss  Elliott 
then  played  in  the  "Orient  Express,"  and  by  the  time  this  article  is  pub- 
lished will  have  appeared  as  Silvia  in  "The  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona." 


-24- 


(From  n  photojfrnph  !)>•  Aiimr  Itupnnt,  New  York.) 


#i 


UCH    glowing  ac- 
counts of   Mr.  Beer- 
bohm   Tree's    powers 
as  an  aclor  had  reached  this 
country    before    he    made    his 
American    debut,   that    only   a 
genius    of    the  first  order  could  have 
saved  us  from  disappointment.    There 
are    not  more   than   four  or    tive  great 
geniuses  on  the  stage  to-day,  and  they  are 
...-^^  tiling  nito  the  sere,  the  yellow  leaf.     Among 

r^^^  3^A  S  ''"^  younger  players  of  our  time,  there  is  not 
^f^  '^^^B  a  one  who  has  shown  himself  to  possess  that 
^^1  fl^B  1  divine  spark  which  raised  Garrick,  Siddons, 
^^•*-  ^^^^^A  \  Kean,  Booth,  Rachel  and  Talma  so  far  above 
^  ■  -^^^^■1  their  dramatic  contemporaries;  none  who  can 
replace  a  Bernhardt,  a  Duse,  an  Irving  or  a 
Salvini.  Possibly  there  may  be  a  few  wast- 
ing their  sweetness  on  the  air  of  some  pro- 
vincial stage.  When  we  were  told  that,  in 
London,  Beerbohm  Tree  was  considered  the 
successor  of  Henry  Irving,  we  raised  our 
liopes  very  high,  and  we  were  proportion- 
ately disappointed.  But  the  injudicious 
puffery  that  had  preceded  the  actor,  and 
that  he  did  not  reach  the  standard  of  our 
expectations,  should  not  blind  us  to  the 
fact  that  Air.  Tree  is  no  ordinary  actor; 
that  he  is  a  highly-finished  artist ;  that 
each  one  of  his  performances  is  worked  out  by  the  bran 
of  a  man  of  power,  and  that  in  the  art  of  make-up  he  has  no  equal 
on  the  stage.  This  art  is  one  that  plays  a  considerable  part  on  our  modern,  well-lit 
boards,  and  of  it  Mr.  Tree  is  a  past-master.  But  that  he  lays  exaggerated  stress  on  its  importance,  we  are  led  to  believe  by  his 
playing  the  hungry,  lean,  impassioned  poet,  Gringoire,  on  the  same  nights  that  he  does  the  sleek  Demetrius  or  the  well-fed,  sensual 
Falstaff.  "The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor"  and  "The  Red  Lamp"  is  each  sufficient  by  itself  for  a  night's  entertainment,  without 
"The  Ballad  Monger"  being  added.  Artists  should  be  above  giving  exhibitions  of  /ours  ih' force.  Versatility  does  not  necessarily 
imply  genius ;  nor  does  the  mere  skillful  handling  of  the  brush  make  an  immortal  painter.  Mr.  Tree's  first  season  in  this  country  was 
much  handicapped  by  his  poor  repertoire.  Before  it  was  closed,  however,  he  had  sufficiently  impressed  himself  upon  the  American 
public  to  make  tliem  wish  to  see  him  again,  and  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  he  will  return  to  us  ere  long  with  some  newer  and 
stronger  plays  than  "  The  Red  Lamp,"  "A  Bunch  of  Violets"  and  "  Captain  Swift." 

Herbert  Beerbohm  Tree  is  the  son  of  a  German  named  Julius  Beerbohm,  who,  about  half  a  century  ago,  settled  in  London  as  a 
grain  merchant.  Herbert  was  born  in  1853,  and  was  educated  partly  in  England  and  partly  in  Germany.  When  he  was  seventeen 
years  old,  he  entered  his  father's  office  as  a  clerk,  but,  being  of  an  artistic  temperament,  the  counting-room  was  very  distasteful  to 
him.  He  joined  a  clever  band  of  amateurs  known  as  the  Irrationals,  and,  under  the  stage-name  of  "  Tree,"  gained  a  good  deal  of 
local  fame  as  an  actor.  In  1S7S,  he  decided  to  take  up  the  stage  as  a  profession,  and  made  his  debut  at  a  matinee  performance 
as  Grimaldi.  His  success  led  to  his  being  offered  fairly  good  engagements,  and  for  the  next  five  years  he  played  at  least  a  hundred 
different  parts,  but  did  not  succeed  in  setting  the  Thames  on  fire.  His  first  hit  was  made  as  the  Rev.  Robert  Spalding  in  "The 
Private  Secretary, "  and  this  was  followed  by  an  equally  successful  performance  as  Macari  in  "Called  Back."  In  April,  18S7,  Mr. 
Beerbohm  Tree  leased  the  Comedy  Theatre  in  London,  and  opened  it  with  "  The  Red  Lamp,"  in  which  he  played  the  role  of  Deme- 
trius. It  was  on  this  occasion  that  his  wife,  to  whom  he  had  been  married  for  about  four  years,  astonished  her  friends  by  her  skillful 
performance  as  Princess  Claudia  Morakoff.  A  few  months  later,  Mr.  Tree  transferred  his  management  to  the  Haymarket,  one  of  the 
oldest  and  most  celebrated  of  the  London  theaters,  and  here,  in  1891,  he  produced  Henry  Arthur  Jones's  "  Dancing  Girl,"  which  was 
the  one  success  of  a  disastrous  theatrical  season  in  the  British  capital.  While  touring  the  provinces  that  year,  he  appeared  at  Man- 
chester for  the  first  time  as  Hamlet.  It  is  a  Hamlet  that  differs  entirely  from'any  Hamlet  hitherto  conceived.  Some  like  it.  Others 
■do  not.  Some  call  it  great.  Others  cJll  it  comic.  Mr.  Tree  is  an  exceedingly  nervous  man,  who,  although  he  always  knows  what 
he  wants,  can  rarely  express  it  in  words.  He  is,  therefore,  a  most  trying  manager,  and,  when  he  is  rehearsing,  nearly  drives  his 
■company  crazy.  But  he  is  so  charming  when  he  is  not  rehearsing,  that  his  explosions  and  expletives  are  soon  forgotten  and  forgiven 
by  his  employes.  He  has  been  called  "the  Apostle  of  Progress  on  the  stage."  If  he  succeeds  in  teaching  "stars"  to  keep  them- 
selves within  the  "picture,"  he  will  not  have  preached  in  vain. 


(1  K.m  :i  |.ii.)l"i;ralili  l>y  Xinmy.  N.  "   ^  "■•-■ 


si 


£}:(^1^i^^^^M:Aid6^^A 


"'\ 

t.>-^\- 

^  ,. 

\ 

,-X 

-; 

ISS     KATHERINE 
FLORENCE    is   one 
of    the    fairest   of  the 
daughters  of  Eve.      But  the  fatal  look- 
ing-glass   does    not   appear  to    have 
^      spoiled  her  nor  the  voice  of  the  llat- 
terer  made  her  vain.    Ever  natu- 
ral on  the  stage,  she  does  not 
carry   with  her  the  airs  of  a 
beauty,  nor  does  she   betray     ^ 
signs  of  self-consciousness.     She 
is  not  yet  a  finished  artist,  and  no 
actress  with  her  short  experience  ever  became 
or  ever  will  become  so;  but  she  always  plays 
intelligently,  and  never  fails  to  present  a  charm- 
ing picture.     She  has  but  to  persevere  in  her  art 
and  eventually  she  will,  as  the  French   say 
"arrive." 

Miss   Florence  has  theatrical  blood   in   her  veins 
Her  mother,  the  late  Katherine  Rogers,  was  a  very 
finished  and  charming  actress,  who  came  to  this  coun- 
try to  create  the  role  of  Galatea,  and  we  recall  her 
delightful  performance  in  "Formosa,"  in  which 
Henry  Irving,   whose  genius  had  not  yet  been 
recognized,  also  played.     Miss  Florence's  educa- 
tion was  commenced  at  the  Convent  of  St.  Gabriel,       y 
I       j:^.        I'cekskill,  N.  Y.,  continued  in  Paris  and  completed  at  Mon- 
y^^  '     treal.      She  appears  to  have  early  developed  a  penchant  for  the 

-'    stage,  and  persuaded   her  mother,  who  was  starring  at  the  time,  to  let  her 
'  take  the  part  of  the  child  Jane  in  "  Miss  Multon."  while  she  was  still  a  schoolgirl, 
but  her  regular  debut  as  an  actress  was  made  in  Mrs.  Langtry's  company  in  "  As  in 
Looking  Glass. "     The  following  season  she  was  engaged  by  Mr.   Stuart  Robson,  and 
hen  joined  the  forces  of  Mr.  W.  H.  Crane.      During  the  season  of  1892-93,  under  the 
management  of  Mr.  Charles  Frohman,  she  appeared  as  Fawn  Afraid,  the  Indian  maid, 
in  that  most  successful  play,  "The  Girl  1  Left  Behind  Me."     Miss  Florence  then  became 
a  member  of  the  Lyceum  company  of  New  York,  making  her  first  appearance  as  Vivian 
'  rray  in  Paul  Potter's  "Country  Cousins."     She  was   the  acting   success  of   the  piece, 
charming,  too,  was  she  as  Lady  Wilhelmina  Belturbet  in   "The  Amazons,"  and  with 
what  modesty  did  she  comport  herself  in  male  attire!     As  Lucy  Gordon  in  "A 
Woman's  Silence,"  Miss  Florence  made  another  success.      The  part  was  a  small  one, 
but  she  plaved  it  so  gracefully  that  her  performance  became  the  talk  of  the  town,  and  con- 
firmed the  opinion  of  amateurs  of  the  stage  that  Miss  Florence  has  a  bright  future  before  her, 


:J^* 


(Kroin  a  iihuto^riiuli  l>y  Morrison,  Chicus"!  HI.) 


COFFIN. 

'HE  visit  of  Mr.  C.  Hayden  Coffin 
to  America — his   native  heath — 
some  two  or  three  years  ago,  was 
all  too  short  for  those  admirers    of  comic 
opera — a  different  thing  from  buffoon  opera — 
that  like  to  see  the  part  of  the  hero  played  by 
an  artist  who  acts  as  a  man  and  not  as  an  apology 
for  one.     A  romance,  which  ended  in  Sir  Francis  Jeune 
granting  a  decree  nisi  to  a  somewhat  aged  and  celebrated  sing- 
ing master  of  London,  was  the  cause  of  Mr.  Coffin's  visit  to 
this  country.      When  the  decree  had  been  made  absolute,   he 
married  the  heroine  of  the  romance  somewhere  out  West,  and  a  few  months  later  they 
bade  farewell  to  these  shores.      Meanwhile,  Mr.  Coffin's  fellow  countrymen  and  country 
women  had  heard  him  as  Waldemar  in  Maurice  Barrymore  and  Charles  Puerner's  "Rob- 
ber of  the  Rhine;  "  as  the  Chevalier  Franz  de  Bernheim  in  "La  Cigale,"  and  as  Alfredo 
in  Gilbert  and  Cellier's  "The  Mountebanks."     None  of  these  roles  showed  him  at  his 
best,  but  still  were  sufficient  to  explain  his  immense  success  in  the  English  metropolis. 
Had  he  remained  longer  with  us  he  would  doubtless  have  become  as  popular  in  the 
United  States  as  he  is  in  the  United  Kingdom.      Mr.  Coffin's  father,  who  hailed  from 
Maine,  was  a  well-known  dentist— or  surgeon-demist,  as  they  style  them  there— in 
South  Kensington,  which  is  not  Mayfair  nor  even  Belgravia.  but  far  above  Clapham^ 
in  fact  a  rather  superior  part  of  London.     There  young  Coffin  began  to  study  at  his 
father's  profession,  but  his  passion  for  music  and  the  unusual  richness  and  timbre  of  his 
baritone  voice  determined  him  to  adopt  the  stage  instead.      He  made  his  first  appearance  in  1885 
as   Cosmo  in  "The   Lady  of  the   Locket  "  at  the   Empire  Theater,  against  which   the  "  Prurient 
Prudes"  recently  waged  warfare.    The  music  was  composed  by  the  late  "Billy"  FuUerton,  son  of 
ex-Judge  FuUerton  of  New  York.     The  piece  was  not  a  great  success,  but  the  costumes  designed 
by  Percy  Anderson,  now  at  the  head  of  his  profession  as  a  designer,  attracted  great  attention.      Mr. 
Coffin  made  his  first  great  hit  the  following  year  as  Harry  Sherwood  in  B.  C.  Stephenson  and  Cellier  s 
"Dorothy."     The  opera  fell  rather  flat  at  first.      Mr.  Cellier  introduced  into  it  the  song  "Queen 
lich  had  been  published  about  twelve  years  before,  but  had  not  attracted  par- 


of  My  Heart, 


play 


ticular  attention.     Mr.  Coffin's  splendid  singing  of  this  song  took  London  by  storm,  and  "Dorothy 
stood  the  extraordmarv  test  of  nine  hundred  and  thirty-one  consecutive  performances,  first  at  the  Gaiety, 
then  at  the  Prince  of  Wales',  and  afterwards  at  the  Lyric,  which  was  built  out  of  its  profits.      In 
Mr.  Coftin  kept  up  his  reputation  as  an  artist  by  his  singing  in  "Doris,"  and  then  as  Leighton  in  "  The 
Red  Hussar."     Under  the  Carl  Rosa  management  he  appeared  as  Ralf  in  "  Marjorie,"  and  m  "Captain 
Therese  "  scored  both  as  dancer  and  singer.      He  then  appeared  as  Robin  Hood  in   "Maid  Marian,      as 
the  opera  was  styled  in  London,  and  won  further  applause  by  his  picturesque  acting  and  finished  vocahsm 
as  Vincent  in  "La  Cigale."     He  later  succeeded  the  Chevalier  Scovel  m  the  tenor  role  of  Franz,  which  he 
;d  in  this  country  with  Lillian  Russell's  company,  but  the  part  lost  power  by  being  transferred. 


-SO— 


(Kroin  a  copyri'ijlit  |ih"tnj:ra|>li  l>y  Saroiiy.  Nov  Vnrk.) 


<    c 

^^B 

w 

m... 

V:=^    •> 

-^'■^i-? 

dustrv,  but 

a  conscientiou 

ANNE    O'NEILL. 

ISS  ANNE  O'NEILL,  the   "leading  lady"  of  William  H.  Crane's  Comedy 
Company,  is  the  daughter  of  an  old-time  newspaper  man,  an  Irish   gentle- 
man, and  an  American  lady.      She  was  born  m  Glasgow,  Scotland,  while 
her  parents  were  on  a  trip  in  1872.     Her  father  and  mother  resided  in  Brook- 
yn,  where  she  developed  remarkable  talent  for  the  amateur  stage,  becoming 
ft     in  time  "leading  lady"  of  the  famous  Catholic  organization  known  as  the 
Leonardis.     With   it    she    played    "Hazel    Kirke "   and    kindred    roles    with 
marked  success,  so  marked  indeed  as  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  late  Steele 
Mackaye,  who  predicted  for  her  a  brilliant  future,  and  offered  her  a  scholar- 
ship in' his  dramatic  school,  then  just  established.     Miss  O'Neill's  first  profes- 
sional engagement  was  with  Richard   Mansfield,  in  whose  company  she  played 
in  the  repertoire,  securing  the  commendation  of  the  star  and  earning  the  sincere 
regard  of  her  associates.     She  was  selected  by  the  younger   Salvini,  with   the 
r-v       approval  of   Manager  A.  I\L  Palmer,  to  play  with  the  elder  Salvini  and  also 
^-^    to  support  Alexander  Salvini  in  the  juvenile  leading  parts  on  the  off  nights, 
when  the  old  gentleman  did   not  act.     Her  youth,  beauty  and  intelligent 
earnestness  received  their  reward,  when,  after  a  long  and  exacting  season,  the 
great  tragedian  presented   her  with  a  photograph  of  himself  on   which   he 
wrote  :   "  To  the  only  Neodamia. "     The  Salvini  season  was  of  great  benefit 
to  Miss  O'Neill,  as  Alexander  included  in   his  schedule  "Don   Caesar  De 
Bazan,"   "  Ruy   Bias,"    "  A  Night  in   Rome,"   and  other  romanticisms, 
affording  not  only  him  but  his  company  full  opportunity  for  the  display  of 
talent  along  the  line  of  comedy  and   melodrama.      With  Mr.  Crane's  com- 
pany Miss  O'Neill  may  now  be  said  to  be  identified,  having  received  a  com- 
-;^i|tif'4^^^^^^H  1/    pliment — all  too  rare  m  that  hard-worked  and  little  understood  profession — of 
W^'-  ,-|^^^^^Hl!    an  engagement  for  five  successive  seasons,  with  improvement  and  advance- 
ment in  the  line  of  work  and  the  continued  approval  and  sincere  regard,  not 
alone  of  her  manager,  Mr.  Brooks,  but  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Crane,  and  their  several 
organizations  during  that  period.      While  in  this  connection.  Miss  O'Neill  has 
played  a  varied  round  of  characters — Mabel   Denman  and  Mrs.  Armstrong  in 
"The  -Senator,"  Sophie  Hackett  in  "  Brother  John,"  Ida  Bruce  in  "  The  Pacific 
Mail,"  Sweet  Anne  Page  in  "  The  Merry  Wives,"  and  again   the   lead  in   Miss 
Martha  Morton's  new  play,  "His  Wife's  Father."     Facial  and  physical  beauty 
y.,  ,.,  count  for  much,  it  must  be  conceded,  particularly  in  the  dramatic  profession,  but 

'^'       simple  charm  of  appearance  never  yet  steered  its  possessor  to  substantial  recognition 
in  that  or  any  other  line  of  work.      To  this  undeniable  factor  Miss  O'Neill  adds  a  peculiar 
adabtability  to  the  demands  of  the  stage,  developing  not  only  a  continuity  of  intelligent 
determination  to  do  her  best  at  all  times  and   under  all  conditions. 


■y^ 


—32- 


(Fruin  a  pholoKraph  by  M()rrisuii,  l  liuagn,  111.) 


@~ 


^ 


f.r^. 


S^>3i^^i:^^ 


(- 


><-' 


vf>^ 


A  "" 


E.   |.   RAT- 
CLIFFE. 


GOOD  many 
^•ears  ago  tliere 
.  jsag    i  ^^^  ^^"^^    produced 

■  a  mV    J  ^^B  in  London  a  play  called  "Babil 

W.f     ^  '      m^K^  1  sB^ft  . -' i'^  ^"'^'  Ijijou.  "  and  written  by 

the   late    Dion    Boucicault. 
It  was  widely  advertised 
CjJ'       that    with    this    piece    Mr. 
Boucicault  would  commence 
the    reformation    of    the 
English  drama.      But  "Babil 
and  Bijou"  did  nothing  to  aid 
this   scheme  of    reformation, 
for  it  was  merely  a  spectacular 
piece  gorgeously  staged,   and  it 
nearly  ruined  its  backers.     There 
were    two    striking    things    in    it. 
One  was  a  body-guard  of  mag- 
nificently-built Amazons,  head- 
\0^~i        ed  by  Miss  Helen  Barry,  who 

then  made  her  first  appearance  on  the 
stage.      Another  was  a  chorus  of  pretty  little 
boys  in  Watteau   dresses,    who  sang    "Spring. 
Spring,  Gentle  Spring  "  to  such  a  catchy  air, 

that  for  years  afterward  the  organ-grinders  drove  two  continents  crazy  with  it. 
Even  to-day   you   may    hear   it  being    ground    out  in  remote  villages  by  ancient 
"hurdy-gurdies."     Among  these  pretty  little  singers  was  E.  J.  Ratcliffe,  the  sub- 
ject of  our  sketch,  who  has  since    become  one  of    our  leading   young  actors,   whose 
photographs  had  a  very  large  sale  until  the  papers  announced  that  he  had  surreptitiously 
taken  to   himself  a  wife.      Young  Ratcliffe  was,  at  the  time  he  was   singing  the  spring 
chorus,  an  altar-boy  at  the  Jesuit's  Church,  in  Farm  street,  London,  which  has  long  borne 
a  well-earned  reputation  for  its  music.     He  later  sung  in  the  choirs  of  St.  Paul's  Cathe- 
dral and  Westmmster  Abbey.      His  voice  broke  in  due  time,  and  the  choir-masters- 
needed  his  services  no  more.      Presently  he  betook  himself  to  India  to  tr\'  and 
make  his  fortune  in  indigo-planting;   but  before  he  could  do  so,  his  health 
broke  down,  and  he  had  to  return  to  England.      He  found  his  native  land 
overcrowded  with   young  men  of   education  and  refinement,   in  the  same 
predicament  as  himself — waiting  for  something  to  turnup;  and  while 
"^  he  was  thus   "  Micawbering, "   he   met    Miss  Mary  Anderson  at  the 

^^^       Farm  street  church,   and  from  her  obtained   an  engagement  to  take 
*/     ^Jk^       a  singing  part  in  "Ingoniar. "     This  incident  is  related  in  order  to- 
'  '       \  point  a  moral  to  young  men  who  do  not  go  to  church  regularly.     Mr. 

,--  .  Ratcliffe  came  with  Miss  Anderson  to  this  country,  and  played  in  every 

one  of  her  pieces.  Then  he  appeared  in  "Lost  in  New  York,"  one  of  the  early  tank- 
dramas,  and  for  the  three  following  seasons  was  a  member  of  Stuart  Robson's  "The  Henrietta"  company.  Mr.  Daniel  Frohnian 
engaged  him  for  the  Lyceutii,  and  he  took  part  in  "The  Junior  Partner,"  "Squire  Kate,"  "Merry  Gotham,"  "The  Gray  Mare," 
"Sweet  Lavender,"  "Old  Heads  and  Young  Hearts,"  "American  Duchess,"  etc.,  etc.  His  first  great  hit  was  made  in  "Shen- 
andoah," and  in  "The  Fatal  Card,"  at  Palmer's  Theater,  he  has  recently  made  an  equally  strong  impression. 


-34— 


From  ii  pholuj^nipli  \>y  Saruiiy,  New  \urk.) 


How  sentimental  was  she 
in  her  powder  and  patches ! — sentimental  as  became  a  properly-educated  young 
woman  of  a  hundred  years  ago  who  had  wept  copiously  over  the  adventures  of 
Clarissa  Harlowe  and  sobbed  as  she  read  of  the  difficulties  that  beset  the  path  of 
the  virtuous  Pamela.      Sir  Joshua,  who  had  painted  the  fair  Sheridan  as  St.  Cecilia, 
could   he  have  been  at  the    Lyceum  Theater,  New  York,  on  the  night  of  September  5, 
1893,  would,  we  dare  swear,  have  asked  the  fair  Kimball  to  pose  for  a  picture  of  the 
sainted  Betty ;  and,  peradventure,  had  that  wily  diplomatist.    Lord  Dufferin,   been 
present,  he  might  have  fallen  head  over  ears  in  love  with  his  great-grandmother. 
And  Miss  Kimball's  Betty  Linley  was  not  only  a  pretty  bit  of  form  and  color:  it 
was  also  a  performance  that  pictured  the  period  of  the  play.     As  the  young  lady 
had  been  but  five  years  on  the  stage,  her  acting  on  this  occasion  surprised  her 
friends  as  much  as  it  delighted  the  general  public,  and  the  work  she  has  since 
done  but  increases  her  reputation.     iSIiss  Kimball,  who  is  a  native  of  Grand 
Rapids,  Mich.,  was  as  sentimental  a  young  woman  in  her  earlier  days  as  was 
Betty  Linley  or  any  other  eighteenth  century  girl.      She  was  given  to  reciting 
to  her  friends  long  before  she  took  to  the  stage  as  a  profession,  and  the  more 
melancholy  the  subject,  the  happier  was  she.      She  went  to  New  York  to  prepare 
for  her  career,  and  for  some  time  studied  with  David  Belasco.      Her  first  appearance 
was  in  the  part  of  a  maid  in  "Engaged,"  and  then  she  played  in  "A  Possible 
Case,"  under  the  management  of  J.  M.  Hill.     She  went  to  Chicago,  to  take  part 
in  some  Shakespearean  revivals  produced  by  Air.   McVicker  in  Chicago.      As 
Miranda,  in  "The  Tempest,"  she  made 
an  excellent  impression.      She  then  joined 
one   of    the  Madison  Square  (New  York) 
Theater   road  companies  and  played  the 
role   of    Stella    Darbyshire   in    ' '  Captain 
Swift."     For  a  short  time  after  this  she 
was   with  Richard  Mansfield's   company 
and   played   the  part   of  Agnes  in  "Jekyll 
and    Hyde."     With   Nat    Goodwin  she 
took  ingenue  parts  in  '•  The  Nominee  " 
and   "A  Gold  Mine,"  and    in    1 891   the 
leading  woman's  role  in  "Chums."    The 
following  season  she   was  engaged  by  the 
Theater  of  Arts  and  Letters  and  made  a  hit 
the   Schoolmistress   in    "Squirrel    Inn." 
Then  came   the  engagement  as   Mr.   E.  H. 
Sothern's  leading  lady,  which  she  still  oc- 
cupies.     With  Mr.  Sothern,  she  made  her 
first  appearance  in  "Captain  Lettarblair," 


and  then  created  the  part  of  Betty  Linley.  Since  then  she  has  also  created  the  role  of  Madge 
in  Jerome  K.  Jerome's  "The  Way  to  Win  a  Woman,"  a  play  that  did  not  catch  the  public 
taste,  but  in  which  Miss  Kimball  found  a  part  she  prefers  to  any  one  she  has  yet  acted.  Miss 
Kimball  possesses  temperament,  without  which  no  player  can  hope  to  gain  a  lasting  hold  on 
the  public.     It  is  a  rare  gift  which  those  who  have  it  should  cherish. 


-36- 


(Krom  n  copyright  photograph  by  Murrison,  Chicago,  111.) 


^fp=>^y^ 


WILLIAM    TERRISS. 


A' 


FIXE,  dashing-looking  man  is  Mr.  William  Terris, 

whose  handsome  face  and  figure  have  gained  him  a  large  female  clifiitt-lc,  while  his 
love  of  sport  has  made  him  most  popular  among  men.  During  the  early  part  of  his 
career  he  was  here,  there  and  everywhere  in  search  of  adventure,  every  now  and  then  trying 
his  hand  at  acting,  but  of  late  years  he  has  stuck  steadfastly  to  the  stage  and  has  brought  up  his 
daughter,  the  fair  Ellaline,  in  the  same  profession.  The  son  of  an  English  barrister  named 
Lewin,  Mr.  Terriss  was  educated  at  Christ's  Hospital,  London,  familiarly  known  as  the 
"Blue-Coat  School."  At  the  age  of  fourteen  he  entered  the  British  navy  as  a  •' middy,"  but 
three  years  later  came  into  a  little  money  and  retired  from  the  service  in  order  that  he  might 
spend  it.  Having  succeeded  in  doing  that,  he  went  to  India  to  learn  the  secrets  of  tea-plant- 
\).  ing,  but  the  life  was  too  monotonous  for  him,  so  he  threw  up  his  position  and  started  for 
home.  The  ship  on  which  he  was  got  wrecked  in  the  Hooghlev,  and  young  Lewin,  with  the 
rest  of  the  survivors,  had  to  spend  a  very  unpleasant  week  on  the  banks  of  the  Ganges  under  a 
broiling  sun  before  they  were  rescued.  When  he  reached  England  he  turned  his  attention  to  en- 
gineering. He  soon  wearied  of  that  and  took  to  playacting  for  a  time.  But  his  roving  disposition 
compelled  him  once  more  to  shake  the  dust  of  London  from  his  feet,  and  he  started  for  the  Falkland 
Islands  to  see  what  sort  of  a  sheep-farmer  he  would  make.  Si.x  months  proved  long  enough  to  teach 
him  that  that  was  not  his  avocation,  so  he  set  sail  for  England  in  a  Swedish  whaler.  Off  the  Spanish 
~'  coast  the  whaler  was  wrecked  and  Mr.  Terriss  spent  two  days  in  a  boat  before  he  was  picked  up, 
more  dead  than  alive,  by  a  passing  steamer.  Then  he  returned  to  the  stage,  but  soon  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  he  was  a  born  horsebreeder.  With  this  idea  in  his  head  he  went  to  Kentucky,  only  to  discover  that  once  more  he  had 
mistaken  his  avocation.  He  returned  to  London  and  settled  down  once  more  to  the  dramatic  profession,  which  he  has  not  since  de- 
serted. He  first  came  into  prominence  as  Young  Thornhill,  in  the  original  production  of  "Olivia,"  with  Ellen  Terry  in  the  title  role 
and  Hermann  \'ezin,  an  American  actor  practically  unknown  in  this  country,  as  the  \'icar  of  Wakefield.  Then  for  a  time  he  was 
Henry  Irving's  leading  man,  and  in  1889  he  paid  his  first  professional  visit  to  the  United  States  and  played  the  dual  part  in  '•  Roger 
la  Honte."  While  here  he  was  attracted  by  "Paul  Kauvar,"  which  he  produced  in  London,  himself  playing  the  title  role.  But  it 
did  not  succeed  in  England,  and  Mr.  Terriss  returned  to  the  fold  of  the  Lyceum  to  play  Hayston  of  Bucklaw  in  "  Ravenswood." 
He  has  since  then  revisited  this  country  as  a  member  of  Mr.  Irving's  company,  and  took  the  part  of  Henry  II.  in  "  Becket, "  played 
Henry  MIL  to  Irving's  Wolsey,  and  in  "Olivia"  acted  the  role  of  Squire  Thornhill,  which  he  had  created  many  years  before. 


-38- 


'HE  success  achieved  by 
Miss   Camille    D'Arville 
in  "Madeleine;  or,  The 
Magic   Kiss,"   is  well    deserved,  for 
she  has  reached  it  by  hard  work. 
A  foreigner  by  birth  and  educa- 
tion, she  had  to  grapple  with  the 
difficulties  of  the  English  language 
before  she  could  get  a  hearing  in 
comic  opera,  and  her  career  has 
since  been  beset  with  many  dis- 
appointments that  would  have 
balked  a  less  courageous 
woman.     A  native  of  Holland, 
Cornelia  Dykstra — that  is  Miss 
D'Arville's  true  name — made 
her  first  appearance  in  1S77  on     V^^'J' 
the  concert  platform  in  Anister-     /^^^ 
dam,   when  she  was    fourteen     ;r^ -i 
years  old.     Having  met  with  some     \!l>%Vl  * 
-  .^  success   in   Germany  and    Austria, 

'J^y^\' '<l._f\  she  determined  to  try  her  fortune  in  ^^^  ^i^' 
England.  But  she  found  the  realities 
of  London  life  very  different  to  her  an- 
ticipations of  it,  and  after  having  experienced 
the  utter  valuelessness  of  the  managerial  promise, 
had  to  be  satisfied  with  an  engagement  at  a  music  hall.  After  some  months  of  uncongenial  toil,  she  obtained  an  opening  in  comic 
opera,  and  found  favor  with  the  liritish  public  in  a  piece  called  "Cymba."  In  "Rip  Van  Winkle"  and  "  Chilperie"  she  increased 
her  popularity  and  at  the  same  time  added  to  her  English  vocabulary  and  improved  her  accent  by  hard  study.  She  then  toured  the 
English  provinces  with  "  Falka,"  and  in  1887  returned  to  London  to  play  in  "  Mynheer  Jan."  This  was  followed  by  an  engagement 
at  the  Gaiety  Theatre,  and  Miss  D'.Arville's  position  on  the  London  stage  appeared  to  be  established,  when  a  quarrel  with  the  manage- 
ment made  her  throw  up  her  contract  and  she  appeared  at  another  theater  in  the  title  role  of  "  Babette."  She  came  to  this  country 
and  appeared  in  "  I'epita,"  and  returned  to  London  to  play  in  "Carina,"  of  which  piece  her  charming  archness  was  the  feature. 
The  Carl  Rosa  company  now  engaged  her  to  take  the  part  of  Yvonne  in  "  I^aul  Jones,"  in  which  Agnes  Huntington  as  the  hero 
had  taken  the  town  by  storm.  From  the  same  company  she  obtained  an  engagement  to  create  the  title  role  of  "  Marjorie."  Seven 
years  ago,  i\liss  D'Arville  returned  to  the  United  States  and  made  her  reentree  with  Lillian  Russell  at  the  Broadway  Theater,  New 
York,  in  "The  Queen's  Mate."  The  entire  success  of  the  piece  was  due  to  her  share  in  the  work.  It  was  an  eventful  occasion  in 
the  singer's  career.  Miss  Lillian  Russell  was  then  the  accepted  queen  of  comic  opera  in  this  country  and  here  was  an  almost  un- 
known taking  the  principal  part,  that  of  Anita,  while  Miss  Russell  was  cast  for  the  role  of  Inez.  Before  the  second  act  was  over 
Miss  D'Arville  had  completely  captured  her  audience.  The  old  triumphs  of  "  Madame  Angot  "  were  then  resuscitated  by  her  Mile. 
Lange.  To  London  she  hied  herself  back  once  more,  and  for  a  time  was  to  be  heard  at  the  Trocadero  and  I'avilion.  Back 
again  to  the  United  States,  and  she  made  a  great  hit  as  Maid  .Marian  in  "  Robin  Hood,"  with  the  Bostomans,  who  foolishly  let  her 
go  rather  than  give  her  a  small  increase  of  salary.  She  has  since  appeared  in  a  revival  of  the  "  .Mascot  "  and  in  "A  Trip  to 
Venus,"  which  was  not  a  success.  In  "  Madeleine,"  judging  from  present  appearances.  Miss  D'Arville  has  found  consolation  for  all 
the  troubles  she  has  gone  through.  Miss  D'.Arville  has  not  only  a  charming  voice,  but  she  knows  how  to  use  it — vi-hich  can  be  said 
of  only  a  few  of  our  renderers  of  comic  opera — and  to  give  artistic  expression  to  her  songs.  She  is,  moreover,  a  most  competent 
actress  and  a  very  delightful  woman  off  as  well  as  on  the  stage.     She  is  tall  and  beautifully  formed,  and  altogether  very  handsome. 


*3  --^^  ( 


-40- 


(From  ;i  i.li,.i,,^,..|.l,  l.y  1  .lit,  Now  V.irk.) 


\ 


i^-. 


M' 


AUGUSTUS   COOK. 

R.  AUGUSTUS  COOK  started  life  in  Edinburgli  a  little  over  thirty-six  years  ago  as  the  son 
of  an  officer  in  the  Bengal  army.  Ten  years  later  he  ran  away  from  home  to  join  a  circus, 
and  now  he  is  showing  us  in  '■  Madame  Sans-Gene  "  that  the  first  Napoleon  created  a 
hornet's  nest  in  his  household  when  he  made  princesses  of  his  sisters.  It  is  an  excellent  pre- 
sentment of  the  victor  of  Austerlitz,  but  only  one  among  a  number  of  remarkably  fine  por- 
traits Mr.  Cook  has  given  on  the  American  stage  during  the  past  ten  years.  And 
each  one  of  these  pictures  has  been  entirely  different  from  those  that  preceded  it, 
for  Mr.  Cook  is  as  free  from  mannerisms  on  the  stage  as  he  is  off.  He  has  one 
peculiarity,  however,  in  private  life.  He  carries  the  collar  of  that  estimable  old 
gentleman,  Mr.  Gladstone.  This  is  a  remarkable  peculiarity,  for  Mr.  Cook  is  a 
small  man,  and  the  G.  O.  M.'s  collars  are  very  big.  In  case  any  of  Mr.  Cook's  admirers 
are  anxious  to  make  him  birthday  presents,  it  were  as  well  to  mention  that  he  was  born 
on  January  22,  1859.  Having  served  his  apprenticeship  in  the  circus,  he  obtained  an  en- 
gagement from  Wilson  Barrett  and  played  in  "East  Lynne  "  with  Miss  Heath,  who,  I 
imagine,  was  the  original  Lady  Isabel.  Such  are  the  turns  of  fortune  in  a  provincial 
actor's  life,  that  Mr.  Cook  next  found  himself  doing  the  clown  in  his  native  city;  then 
he  was  playing  Pierre  in  "  The  Two  Orphans  "  all  over  the  country ;  settled  for  a  short 
time  in  Liverpool  to  give  the  inhabitants  a  taste  of  his  quality  as  the  heroes  of  Dion 
Iloucicault's  Irish  dramas;  entered  into  partnership  with  another  man  to  take  the 
and  soon  found  himself  "  broke."  He  betook  himself  to  Africa,  played  in  Cape  Town, 
fought  against  the  Boers,  and  got  severely  wounded  for  his  trouble.  Me 
London  at  one  or  two  east  end  theaters,  and  Augustus  Harris  took  him  to  Drury  Lane.  Miss  Minnie  Palmer  brought  him  to  this 
country  in  1885,  and,  after  having  been  for  a  short  time  Roland  Reed's  leading  man,  he  scored  his  first  success  m  the  United  States  as 
Mark  Lezzard  in  "  Hoodman  Blind."  His  Lord  Sam  Slashton  in  "Fascination,"  in  which  he  and  Miss  Cora  Tanner,  made  up  as 
two  youths,  was  another  hit.  He  then  joined  the  Lyceum  (New  York)  company;  played  Mr.  Piffin  in  "The  Maister  of  Woodbar- 
row  "  and  David  Ives  in  "  The  Dancing  Girl ;  "  returned  to  Edinburgh  to  be  reconciled  to  his  old  father  after  a  separation  of  nearly  a 
■quarter  of  a  century,  and  came  back  to  this  country  to  create  the  American  Napoleon.  Opposite  will  be  found  a  portrait  of  Mr.  Cook 
in  the  "  make-up  "  of  the  "  little  corporal." 


Theatre  Royal  in  that  city, 
Zanzibar    and    Kimberlev 


Me    then    played 


—42- 


(t  ..i>yii>;lii(;(I  by  Prince,  31  Union  S(iimr< .  Xt»  \  nrk.     I'iaic  Nn.  3.) 


v 


Sl 


/ 


/ 


s 


J 


MME. 
NORDICA. 


T" 


HERE   was  a  time 
when  the  critics  had 
a  habit  of  describing 
Mnie.  Nordica  as  '■  that  useful  and  ex- 
perienced artiste."     Should  a  prima  donna  fall  victim  to  the  ruthless 
grip,  Mme.  Nordica  was  always  at  hand  to  fill  her  place  and  save 
the   desperate    management    from    nervous    prostration.      She    was 
'       capable  of  singing   the  part  of  Brunnehilde  or  that  of  Lucia;  was 
'        equally  good  as  Susanna  in  "The  Marriage  of  Figaro"  and  Venus 
in   "  Tannhaiiser. "     In  short,  she  was  drifting  into  the  shoes  of  that 
most  indefatigable  replacer  oi prtiiie  donne  Mile.  Bauermeister,  who  has 
been  doing  this   heroic  work  for  nearly  thirty  years.     But  there  can    be 
nothing  more  damning  to  a  singer  with  high  aspirations  than  to  be  called  a 
•'useful  artist."      It  injures  his  or  her  musical  reputation  with  the  public  as  much  as 
being  called  "a  good-natured  fellow"  destroys  the  character  of  a  man.     Luckily,  at 
the  nick  of  time,  Frau  Cosima  Wagner  came  to  Mme.  Nordica's  rescue  and  saved 
ler  from  the  'plough  into  which  she  was  rapidly  sinking  by  engaging  her  to  take 
the  part  of  Elsa  at  the  Bayreuth  festival  of  1S94.     It  did  not  appear  to  trouble 
Mme.   Nordica's  admirers  at  all  that  the  possibilities  were  that   Bayreuth 
methods  might  ruin  the  singer's  voice.      It  was  enough  that  she  would 
bear  the  Wagner  cachet,  even  if  her  voice  were  ruined  at  the  altar  of  the 
great  Richard.     It  was  true  that  Cosima  had  lately  been  accused  of  think- 
ing more  of  "  filthy  lucre"  than  of  the  memory  of  her  husband  and  true  art, 
and  that  among  musicians  the  Bayreuth  "hall  mark"  no  longer  carried  with 
It  the  value  of  former  years ;  but  with  the  public  it  was  as  good  as  ever.      So 
Mme.  Nordica  sang  Elsa  at  Bayreuth  with  great  success,  and  when  she  came  back 
to  her  native  land  the  critics  no  longer  wrote  of  her  usefulness,  and  treated 
her  Elsa — which  to  our  mind  was  always  excellent  and  not  a  bit  improved 
by  Frau  Wagner's  instructions — as  if  it  were  inspired.     Mme.  Nordica, 
although  an  American  by  birth,  had  gained  a  reputation  in  England  long 
before  she  was  heard  in  this  country  as  a  singer  of  the  first  rank.      Her  true 
name  was  Lillian  Norton.       She  is  a  granddaughter  of  John  Allen,  of  camp- 
meeting  fame,  who  reconciled  himself  to  her  going  on  the  stage  by  saying  she 
was  "  no  actress,  but  a  singer."     She  was  born  at  Farmington,  Me.,  in  the 
early  sixties.     Both  her  father  and  mother's  families  were  celebrated  for 
their  voices,  but  Lillian's  voice,  even  in  her  youth,  proved  exceptional,  and 
she  was  sent  to  the  Boston  Conservatory  to  study  music.      Her  singing  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  the  late  Patrick  Sarsfield  Gilmore.     He  engaged  her  for 
,  -"^      his  concerts.      She  went  with  him,  too.  to  Europe  on  that  unfortunate  tour,  which 
resulted  in  such  financial  disaster.     Then   Miss  Norton  journeyed  with  her  mother  to 
Italy  and  commenced  seriously  to  study  il  bel  can/o.     Her  first  appearance  as  an  opera 
singer  was  made  in  the  character  of  Violetta  in  "  La  Traviata."     She  played  soon  afterward 
in   "Faust,"   "Lucia"  and   '  Rigoletto "   with  marked  success.     An  engagement   followed 
'/y      with  Colonel  Mapleson  in  1887  to  sing  at  Covent  Garden,  London.     The  good  impression  she  then 
made  has  increased  each  season,  and  she  has  since  become  a  great  favorite  with  the  London  public, 
but  before  she  appeared  in  London  she  had  sang  both  in  St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow,  and  broken  her 
Russian  contracts  in  order  to  accept  an  engagement  at  the  Paris  Opera  House.      While  there  she  met 
Frederick  Allen  Gower,  her  second  cousin,  who,  while  in  the  employ  of  Bell,  the  telephone  man,  had 
taken  a  good  deal  of  his  salary  in  telephone  stock  and  become  a  very  wealthy  man.      He  brought  his 
wife  to  this  country,  having  obtained  her  release  from  the  opera.      jNIatters  matrimonial  did  not  move 
with  that  smoothness  which  is  always  desirable.     The  Gowers  returned  to  France,  and  one  fine  day 
in  1S87  Fred  Gower  started  in  a  balloon  to  cross  the  Straits  of  Dover,  and  not  a  trace  of  him  has 
since  been  discovered.      Rumors  have  now  and  again  started  that  he  was  still  alive, 

-J-    ,       and  persons  have  even  claimed  to  have  met  and  spoken  to  him.     But  there  ap- 

^=r'  ..<*J!l  pears  to  be  no  doubt,  whatever,  that  he  is  dead,  and  Mme.  Nordica  will  in  a 

^t:^^  -        -    ■ 


short  time  take  to  herself  another  husband,  Zoltan  Doeme,  the  Hungarian 
tenor.  To  return  to  her  stage  career,  Mme.  Nordica — she  had  adopted 
the  name  when  she  first  appeared  in  Italy — made  her  New  York  debut  at 
the  Metropolitan  Opera  House  as  Leonora  in  "Trovatore, "  Signor  Tamagno  being  the  Manrico.  She  has  been  a  prominent 
member  of  the  Italian  opera  companies  singing  in  this  country  since  then.  The  roles  in  which  she  has  made  an  especial  hit  are :  Val- 
entine in  "The  Huguenots"  and  Elsa  in  "  Lohengrin,"  but  there  is  scarcely  a  leading  soprano  part  on  the  operatic  stage  which  is 
not  in  her  repertoire.  In  none  of  them  has  she  made  a  failure.  She  ranks  among  the  gKaX  prime  donne  of  the  day,  even  if  she  has 
not  the  voice  of  a  Melba  or  the  fire  of  a  Calve. 


:/ 


—44- 


PLANCON. 

SAINT    POL    PLAXgON.or 

••  Pol  Plangon,"  as  he  signs  liim- 
,  self  and  is  generally  called, stands 

A  high  among  the  leading  operatic  singers 
'  ,  of  the  day.  He  has  a  glorious  bass  voice, 
^^-^  an  excellent  method,  and  is  an  artist  ••to- 
his  finger-nails, "  as  his  fellow-countrymen  would  say. 
He  has,  in  addition,  a  very  fine  stage  presence,  being  almost  as  tall  as  M.  Edouard  de  Reszke,  and  a  handsome  face.  It  may  be  that 
he  will  never  succeed  in  effacing  the  memory  of  that  other  great  French  basso,  Faure,  for  Faures  are  very  few  and  far  between,  but 
as  M.  Plangon  is  still  quite  a  young  man,  there  is  no  telling  what  heights  he  may  reach  within  the  next  fifteen  or  twenty  years.  As 
it  is,  he  has  established  his  reputation  both  on  the  stage  and  on  the  concert  platform  in  this  country,  in  France  and  in  England,  and 
has  made  himself  a  social  favorite  in  all  the  cities  he  has  visited.  M.  Planijon  comes  of  a  very  musical  stock,  but  he  is  the  first  of  his 
family  to  adopt  music  as  a  profession.  His  grandfather  was  an  amateur  whose  fame  as  an  organist  and  violinist  spread  far  beyond 
the  limits  of  his  native  city.  His  brother,  who  is  a  Professeur  de  Lycec  in  Paris,  has  a  voice — also  bass — which,  were  it  properly 
trained,  would  make  his  fortune;  but  he  prefers  pedagogy  to  the  fascmations  of  stage  life.  From  his  very  cradle,  M.  Planijon  was 
brought  up  in  a  musical  atmosphere,  and  commenced  humming  airs  before  he  could  make  himself  understood  in  words.  As  a  boy 
he  possessed  a  very  clear  and  true  soprano  voice  which,  the  parish  priest  recognized,  would  draw  neighbdruig  sinners  to  repentance; 
and  young  Plangon's  lovely  voice  soon  attracted  large  congregations  to  the  little  church.  Recognizing  that  there  was  a  fortune  in 
their  son's  voice,  his  parents,  after  it  had  broken  and  developed  into  a  deep  bass,  had  it  carefully  trained.  M.  Plangon  made  his 
debut  in  1879,  in  the  part  of  St.  Bris,  at  Lyons,  and  for  the  following  two  years  remained  in  that  city  as  a  member  of  the  opera  com- 
pany. An  engagement  to  smg  Wagner  roles  at  the  concerts  of  M.  Lamoureux,  who  was  educating  Paris  in  the  "music  of  the  future," 
followed,  and  in  1883  he  made  his  debut  at  the  Pans  Opera  House  in  the  role  of  Mephistopheles.  The  summer  of  1890,  he  made  his 
first  appearance  in  the  same  character  before  a  London  audience,  and  has  been  engaged  to  sing  at  Covent  Garden  every  season  since 
then.  For  ten  winter  seasons  he  had  sung  in  Paris,  when  he  received  an  offer  to  come  to  this  country,  and,  as  artists  make  four  or 
five  times  as  much  in  the  United  States  as  they  do  in  Paris,  M.  Plangon  was  only  too  willing  to  accept  the  offer.  His  first  ap- 
pearance in  the  United  States  was  made  at  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House,  New  York,  on  November  29,  1893,  in  the  character  of 
Jupiter  in  Gounod's  "Philemon  and  Baucis."  On  the  same  night,  Madame  Calve  made  her  American  debut.  At  once,  Plangon  was 
recognized  by  both  the  public  and  the  critics  as  an  artist  of  the  first  rank,  with  a  splendid  voice.  His  King  in  "  Hamlet,"  his  Capulet, 
and  his  Pogner  in  the  "  Meistersinger,"  established  his  position.  M.  Plangon,  like  most  of  his  countrymen,  finds  our  language  an, 
insurmountable  difficultv,  and,  although  he  has  spent  three  winters  with  us,  can  hardly  understand,  and  much  less  speak.  English. 


-46- 


^^- 


■^ -^^7"^^^%^^^  "S^^^  VA/'HEN    Henry   Irving  gave   his   famous   lecture   at 

y--.-'  >i>  ~    J*^  ^  ti^e   University  of  Oxford,  he  chose  for  his  sub- 

-^-^^^^''^J^A^       ject  "  Four  Great  Actors."    He  took  Richard  Burbage,  Thomas 
/i^  ''?\'^'         lietterton.    David  Garrick,  and  Edmund   Kean  as  examples  of 
If       V  "^     players  whose  eminence  in  their  profession  had  been  secured  by 
Nature,  not  by  the  bare  exercise  of  art,  or,  more  correctly  speaking, 
artificiality.      To  this  quartet  of  English  actors,  who  won  their  fame  by 
the  observance  of  the  laws  of  nature  in  the  personation  of  character,  a  fifth  name 
may  be  justly  added.     For  an  actor  less  artificial  than  Henry  Irving  has  not 
existed.      No  actor  has  ever  achieved  his  position  in  face  of  greater  difficulties. 
His  mannerisms  were  so  pronounced  that  strangers  were  startled  on  making  ac- 
quaintance with  him  on  the  stage  and  unable,  at  first,  to  appreciate  the  beauty 
acting.     No  actor  has  been  more  bitterly  assailed,  more  violently  opposed 
than  he.    The  denunciation  which  was  poured  upon  him  in  his  early  days  in  London 
would  have  broken  a  heart  composed  of  less  sterner  stuff.     He  fought  on,  and  won. 
For,  behind  his  hardly-earned  experience  of  the  stage,  and  his  magnetism,  he  had  a 
powerful  ally.      This  was  Nature.     It  was  this  which  made  his  Hamlet  a  conspicu- 
ous figure  in  the  history  of  the  theatre,  not  for  to-day  only,  but  for  all  time.      His 
Hamlet  upset  all  previous  ideas  as  to  the  rendering  of  the  character.      It  did  away 
with  the  gloomy  person  on  stilts  who  was  often  put  forward  as  the  Prince  of  Den- 
mark.     Henry  Irving  preserved  the  pensiveness  of  the  character,  he  remembered 
that  Hamlet  was  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman,  and  that  he  lived  and  moved  and  had 
his  being  in  an  atmosphere  which  was  lofty  and  his  own.      Yet,  though  he  kept 
the  distinction  of  Hamlet  in  view,  he  also  bore  in  mind  the  fact  that  Hamlet  was 
a  man  as  well  as  a  prince.      It  was  the  humanity  of  Irving's  Hamlet  which  con- 
stituted its  chief  characteristic.      It  is  that  quality  which  has  made  his  rendering  cf 
Hamlet  popular,  for  over  fifteen  years,  in  Great  Britain  and  in  America.     It  is  the 
touch  of  humanity  in  it  v.'hich  has  secured  the  admiration  of  students  of  Shakespeare 
and  the  stage  and  the  general  public  alike.     His  Hamlet  is  sublime,  but  it  is  human, 
also.      That  is  the  secret  of  its  success.      That  is  why  Henry  Irving  is  the  only 
English  actor  whose  Hamlet  holds  the  stage  just  as  firmly  now  as  in  1878.      This 
Nature  in  acting — which  is  not  to  be  confused  with  mere  naturalness,  often  only  an 
excuse  for  the  commonplace — is  the  dominant  quality  of  his  acting.     His  playing  ap- 
peals to  the  intellect,  but  it  invariably  appeals  to  the  heart — where  such  an  appeal  is 
possible.      It  has  sympathy  in  it.      His  Hamlet,  his  Shylock,  his  Macbeth,  his  King 
Lear,  his  Becket,  his  \Volsey,  and  his  Dr.  Primrose,  are  all  touched  in  this  way.      In 
other  characters,  where   sympathy   is   out   of  question,   the   actor  fascinates  by  his 
personality.     He  has  a  larger  amount  of  magnetism  than  any  other  actor  of  his  time. 
'    His  individuality  is  so  strongly  marked  that  it,  alone,  enables  him  to  invest  every  char- 
""  acter  in  which  he  appears  with  an  air  quite  his  own.     Even  in  following  other  actors — 
in  such  parts,  for  instance,  as  Louis  XL  and  Lesurques  and  Duboscq — there  is  never 
any  question  of  comparison,  much  le.ss  of  imitation.      This  personality  is  so  strong  that 
it  surrounds  every  part  which  he  plays.      It  is  a  remarkable  proof  of  the  value  of  in- 
dividuality to  the  actor.      Personality  has  been  one  of  the  secrets  of  Henry  Irving's  stage 
success.      But  the  humanity  in  his  acting  is  the  chief  reason  of  his  preeminence  as  an 
actor.      This  is  why  his  name  will  be  handed  down  to  posterity  among  the  greatest  of 
English  players.      The  illustrations  which  appear  on  this  page  present  Mr.  Irving  in  six 
of  his  most  noted  impersonations.      In  the  centre,  he  is  seen  as  the  most  human  Hamlet 
of  our  time.     To  the  left,  he  appears  as  the  diabolical  Louis  XL;  to  the  right    as  the 
murderous,  ruffianly  Duboscq.      Below,  he  is  pictured  as  Macbeth,  as  Eugene  Aram,  and  as 
the  most  sympathetic  Shylock  that  the  stage  has  ever  known. 


—4- 


THE  charm  of  personality  on  the  stage  has  never  been  more  clearly 
'UL  I     (  v^^  exemplified,  or  put  to  a  nobler  purpose,  than  in  the  case  of  Ellen 

ii\^     •  '■*-'         Terry.      She  makes  entirely  her  own  each  character  that  she  plays. 
""■  To  think  of    her  is  to   think  of  Ophelia,  of  Beatrice,  of  Viola,  of  Lady 

Macbeth,  of  Cordelia,   of  Portia,  and  of  the   heroines  of   many  modern 
dramas.      Take,  however,  these  si.K  Shakespearean  heroines  as  embodied 
by  her.      Contrast,  one  with  the  other,  her  interpretation  of  these  varying  char- 
acters.     Think  of  the  girlishness  and  the  pathetic  beauty  of  her  Ophelia,  and 
then  of  the  ripe,  brilliant  beauty  of  her  Lady  of  Belmont.      Her  Ophelia  moves 
to  tears,  her  Beatrice,  bold,  well-defined,  and  buoyant  in  its  humor,  keeps  the 
spectator  in  a  mood  of  genuine  mirth.      Again,  remember  the  tender,  plaintive 
grace  of  her  Viola,  and  then  dwell  on  the  sportive  humor  of  the  actress  in  the 
lighter  scenes  of  '■  The  Merchant  of  Venice,"  of  her  own  infectious  enjoyment  of 
them,   of    her    spontaneity,  of  her  own   gayety.      Her  Lady  Macbeth  is  not   the 
typical  hard,  fierce,  scowling  creature  of  the  stage  who  rules  by  her  head,  but  a 
woman  who  retains  her  infiuence  over  her  husband  through  the  heart.      Yet  she 
preserves  the  wickedness  of  the  character,  and  her  portraiture  of  this  baneful  woman 
will  ever  live  in  the  annals  of  the  stage.     We  can  hardly  expect  to  see,  in  this  genera- 
tion at  least,  a  Cordelia  so  exquisite,  for  the  successor  of  Ellen  Terry  has  not  yet  loomed 
^^^^^_  ,,  ,  .  .  up  on  the  theatrical  horizon.     The  beauty  of  her  acting,  the  infinite  pathos  of  it,  can 

^&I^^^Km  "'"^        fjB^^^  never  be  forgotten  by  those  who  witnessed  Henry  Irving's  revival  of  "  King  Lear." 

vv^^^R  .4^^^^^^^^^  ^  ''''"  ^''^  """  '■'^^  tears  which  almost  blinded  the  actress,  so  great  was  her  own 

emotion  in  the  part,  and  I  can  feel  the  heart  throb  which  her  personation  created 
at  this  point.      If  it  were  a  question  of  versatility,  these  Shakespearean  heroines 
would  eloquently  and  effectively  plead  the  cause.      And.  to  these  characters, 
many  more  might  be  added — from  Clara  Douglas,  Mabel  \'ane,  Blanche  Haye, 
Lilian  \'avasour,  and  Olivia  of  the  old  days,  to  the  Rosamund  of  "  Becket  '  in 
the  present.      All  these  characters,  as  such,  will  ever  be  associated  with  her. 
She  has  shown  us  the  author  in  each  and  all  of  them,  but  she  has  beautified  them 
with  her  own   personality.      She  is  the  most  conspicuous  proof  which  the  Eng- 
lish stage  possesses  that  the  idea  of  the  player  losing  his  own  identity  in  the 
part  is  altogether  untenable.      You  think  of  her  in  each  and  every  character, 
but  vou  think  of  her.  also,  as  herself.      It  is  not  that  she  is  Ellen  Terry  playing 
a  part.      On  the  contrary,  and  the  fact  cannot  be  too  strongly  dwelt  upon,  she 
is,  for  the  time  being,  the  character  which  she  adopts.      But  she  lends  to  every 
part  in  which  she  appears  the  additional  beauty  of  her  own  self.     It  is  individu- 
ality, personality,  call  it  what  you  will.      It  is  not  anything  acquired.      It  is 
not  the  special  ability  which  enables  an  actor  to  impersonate   adequately,  or 
even  greatly.      It  is  not  the  trick  of  the  stage,  or  the  result  of  training  and 
experience.      It  is  that  which  is  inborn  and  peculiar  to  the  actress.      It  is  not 
physical  beauty — as  such  a  quality  is  commonly  understood — but  it  is  beauty 
nf  another  kind — it  is  beauty  of  heart  and  of  soul.      It  is  the  nature  of  the 
woman.      The  beauty  of  womanhood  pervades  every  part  which  she  plays. 
It  finds  expression  in  her  face,  in  her  voice,  in  her  action.      Whatever  she 
does,  has  heart  in  it.      You  feel  that  Ellen  Terry  has  sounded  the  depth  of  a 
woman's  nature.      Women  recognize  that  in  her  acting,  men  know  it.      Henry 
Irving  has  attained  his  proud  and   unassailable  position  by  indomitable  will,  by  a  marvel- 
lous individuality,  and  by  the  nature  which  he  shows  in  his  acting.      Ellen  Terry  stands  at 
the  very  head  and   front  of  English-speaking   actresses   chiefiy  by  reason  of  the  charm  of 
womanhood  which  is  ever  present  in  her  work.      In  the  lower  of  the  illustrations  which  ac- 
company this  notice,  she  is  pictured  as  Margaret  in  "Faust,"  one  of  her   most  delightful 
impersonations.      Then  she  is  seen  in  private  dress,  and  then  as  Ophelia.      The  stern  look  of  her  Queen   Katharine,  and  the 
cold,  tragic  aspect  of  her  face  as  Xance  Oldfield,  are  happily  contrasted  by  the  bright,  sprightly  appearance  of  the  actress  as 
I5eatrice.      Her  acting  of  the  latter  character  is  the  most  conspicuous  example  of  high  comedy  of  to-day. 


■^ 


\ 


V^ 


■^' 


gSP 


"THE  I'iipid  rise  of    this  popular  young  actor  has  been  re- 
markable.    Success  has  crowned  his  efforts  from  the  outset.      He  has  reached  a  high 
place  in   tlie   regard  of  the  playgoers  of  America  without  the  long  years  of  arduous  training 
which  usually  fall  to  the  lot  of  the  player.      Like  his  father,  Edward  Askew  Sothern,  he  had  a 
natural   predilection  for  the  stage  which  could  not  be  repressed.      The  first  Lord  Dundreary 
was   designed    by  his   parents   for  the   ministry,  and,  in   turn,  his  second  son,  Edward  H. 
Sothern — who  was  born  in  New  Orleans,  thirty  years  ago — was  intended  by  his  father  to 
become  a  painter.     But  he  did  not  take  kindly  to  the  teaching  of  the  art  school  of  the 
Royal   Academy  of  London,  and  he  prevailed  on  his  father  to  allow  him  to  accompany 
him  on  one  of  his  visits  to  America.     That  wish  granted,  he  ne.xt  obtained  his  father's 
consent  to  try  his  hand  as  an  actor.      He  was  but  nineteen  years  old  when  he  made  his 
first  appearance  on  the  public  boards.      It  was  as  a  member  of  his  father's  company  and  at 
Abbey's  old  Park  Theatre,  New  York.     The  story  of  that  event  has  been  told  by  the  young 
actor.     His   father  was  a  severe  stage   manager,  and  the  son  was  naturally  nervous,  so 
nervous   in   fact  that  he  entirely  forgot  his  words  when   the  cue  came  for  him  to  speak. 
"  My  father,"  he  said,  "was  on  the  stage  when  1  made  my  entrance  on  that,  to  me,  mem- 
orable occasion,  and  I  walked  toward  him ;   I  didn't  say  my  sentence.      I  couldn't  utter  a 
word,  and  I  shall  never  forget  my  sensations  when  I  heard  my  father  e.xclaim,  in  an  under- 
tone, -Why  don't  you  say  something!     Can't  you  speak  ?'     It  had  never  occurred  to  me  before 
that  people  could  talk  to  each  other  on  the  stage  and  nor  be  overheard.     I   supposed,  of  course, 
that  the  entire  audience  was  aware  of  what  my  father  said  to  me;  my  chagrin  was  intolerable, 
and  I  got  off  the  stage  as  quickly  as  I  could.      This  performance  only  confirmed  my  father's 
opinion  that  I  would  never  make  an  actor.      Still,  1  appeared  with  him  the  next  night,  and 
,,^    after  much  drilling  succeeded  in  getting  off  my  sentence."     Mr.  Sothern  played  with  Ins 
father's  company  for  about  a  year,  and  went  back  to  England  w"th  him.      He  speedily 
returned  to  America,  however,  and  joined  the  late  John  McCullough,  with  whom  he  went 
on   a  tour.     Then   came  the  only  hard   experience  in  his  career.     He  had  to  wait  a  long 
time   before  obtaining  another  opportunity  for  the   cultivation  of   his  chosen   profession. 
But,  luckily,  he  accepted  his  chance  and  took  a  small  part  in  "  Mona  "  at  the  Star  Theatre, 
New  York.      The   narrative  of  that   engagement  is  somewhat  curious.      The  young  actor 
frequented  the  theatrical  agencies  in  vain.     But  he  was  never  to  be  seen  wandering  up  and 
down  the  south  side  of  L'nion  Square — the  Rialto,  as  it  was  called,  in  New  Y'ork  in  those 
days — which  was  then  the  hunting  ground  of  the  needy  actor.     He  was  proud  by  nature.     He 
was  almost  beginning  to  despair  of  getting  an  engagement  when  he  received  the  offer  to  play  in 
'  Mona."     He  replied  that  he  would  think  the  matter  over,  and  he  went  home  to  seek  the  counsel  of 
his  particular  friend,  the  well-known  actor,  Mr.  Joseph   Haworth.      "In  spite  of  my  varied  e.xperi- 
ences  and  misfortunes,"  Mr.  Sothern  will  tell  vou  in  a  charming,  iian'c  manner,  "now  that  I  was  back 
\      in  New  York  and  particularly  since  I  really  had  the  offer  of  an  engagement  that  I  could  accept  or  refuse, 
■    as  I  chose,  I   f=;lt  my  pride  mounting;  and   1  actually  said  to  Joe,  in  a  very  self-satisfied  manner,  that  I 
did  not  think  I  jught  to  lower  myself  by  taking  such  a  small  part  in  New  York,  and  that  I  had,  perhaps, 
better  consider  the  matter  a  little  more  seriously  than  I  would  consider  accepting  a  leading  part.     Joe 
turned  to  me  in  a  half-contemptuous  manner,  and  asked :   '  Who  are  you,  anyway  ?'  "    In  "One  of  Our  Girls,"  which  followed 
"  Mona,"  he  made  his  first  hit.      His  success  led  to  his  appearance,  on  May  3,  1877,  in  "The  Highest  Bidder,"  at  the  Lyceum 
Theatre,   New  \ork.     In  this,   he  created  so  favorable  an  impression  that  Mr.  Daniel  Frohman  secured  his  services.     Mr. 
Sothern  is  still  under  the  same  management,  and   his  annual  appearances  at  the  Lvceum  Theatre  are  welcome  to  the  amuse- 
ment lovers  of  New  York.      •■  The  Highest  Bidder "  was  followed  by  "  The  Great  'Pink  Pearl,"  and  then  came  "Lord  Chum- 
ley,"  the  greatest,  perhaps,  of  all  Mr.  Sothern's  popular  successes.     He  ne.xt  appeared  in  "The  Maister  of  Woodbarrow." 
This  was  followed  by  "The  Dancing  Girl,"  in  which  he  acted  the  Duke  of  Guiseberry,  a  character,  however,  in  which  he 
was  not  seen  to  the  best  advantage.     Then  came  "Captain  Lettarblair,"  which  was  followed,   last  year,  by  "  Sheridan,"  a 
piece  in  which  he  has  found  additional  favor.      The  success  won  by  Mr.  Sothern  upon  the  stage  has  been  fairly  earned.      He 
has  the  artistic  instinct,  his  methods  are  marked  by  refinement,  and  iie  studies  his  profession  with  great  perseverance,  industry, 
and  conscientiousness. 


MARGARET    REID. 


pOR  some  reason,  known  only  to  the  management,  the  name  of  Miss  ^'an 
Zandt,  which  had  been  announced  in  the  advertisements  for  the  role  of 


Ophelia  in  the  production  of  Ambroise  Thomas's  'Hamlet,'  on  P'ebriiary 
lo,  1892,  was  withdrawn  on  the  last  day  and  that  of  Miss  Margaret  Reid 
substituted.  The  audience  assembled  at  tlie  Metropolitan  Opera  House  did 
not  seem  to  be  specially  pleased  at  this  change.  Who  was  Miss  Margaret 
^'  Reid,  anyway  }     Some  ambitious  debutante,  doubtless,  whose  services  had 

been  availed  of  at  the  last  moment,  and  who  ought  to  be  at  a  church  choir 
rehearsal  instead  of  attempting  to  entertain  an  aristocratic  and  critical  New 
York  audience.  However,  Lasalle,  the  great  baritone,  would  be  worth  hearing. 
Hamlet  was  the  favorite  part  in  which  he  had  won  reputation  abroad.  The 
music  of  the  opera  was,  moreover,  a  novelty,  and  the  other  artists  in  the  cast 
were  of  approved  standing.  So,  after  all,  it  would  not  much  matter  about  the 
Ophelia — although  there  were  many  present  who  remembered  both  Sembrich  and 
Nilsson  in  the  part.  In  the  earlier  acts  of  Thomas's  '  Hamlet'  there  is  not  very 
much  for  the  prima  donna.  The  only  aria  had  been  heartily  encored,  the  con- 
certed passages  to  which  Miss  Reid's  voice  lent  such  charm  had  been  well  ap- 
plauded. But  the  opera  is  long,  and  it  was  after  midnight  thai  I\Iiss  Margaret 
Reid  made  one  of  the  greatest  hits  ever  known  on  the  lyric  stage.  In  the  mad 
scene,  with  which  the  opera  closes,  Ophelia  appears  in  the  white  robes  which 
etiquette  prescribes  for  all  crazy  heroines  on  the  stage,  her  hair  enwreathed  with 
fantastic  garlands  of  '  crow-flowers,  nettles,  daisies,  and  long  purples.'  She  has 
the  scene  to  herself,  only  an  invisible  chorus  at  times  singing  a  gentle  melody. 
The  music  of  Thomas  is  here  difficult,  though  exquisitely  sweet.  It  abounds  in 
difficulties  and  strange  intervals  and  chromatic  runs.  Miss  Margaret  Reid  looked, 
acted,  and  sang  this  scene  to  perfection.  The  audience  was  entranced.  The 
curtain  fell  at  twenty  minutes  after  midnight,  yet  the  singer,  a  stranger  to  almost 
all  in  the  house,  was  called  five  times  before  the  curtain,  the  audience  standing, 
cheering,  and  waving  hats  and  handkerchiefs.  It  was  a  memorable  .scene,  and 
the  young  singer  must  have  deemed  it  the  greatest  experience  of  her  life.  The 
next  day  the  affair  was  the  talk  of  the  town  in  musical  circles.  Here  was  a 
charming  and  pleasing  personality,  a  lovely,  velvety  voice,  an  excellent  style,  all 
embodied  in  a  voung  girl  .scarcely  out  of  her  teens,  of  whom  few  had  ever  heard. 
The  noble  Hamlet  cf  Lasalle  the  Frenchman,  the  magnificent  King  of  Edouard  de 
Reszke,  the  dramatic  Queen  of  Ravogli,  the  Roman,  were  forgotten;  Margaret 
Reid  was  the  sensation  of  the  evening."  This  extract,  from  a  metropolitan  musical 
paper,  was  one  of  the  many  articles  that  appeared  after  the  debut  of  this  young  prima  donna,  and  chronicles  the  only 
case  on  record  where  an  .American  singer  has  been  allowed  to  make  her  first  appearance  on  any  stage  in  her  own  country 
and  among  such  renowned  and  talented  European  artists.  Miss  Reid  may  well  be  proud  of  this,  as  it  instantly  predisposes  all 
patriotic  Americans  in  her  favor.  At  the  close  of  the  season  at  the  .Metropolitan  Opera  Hou.se,  the  young  singer  was  imme- 
diately engaged  for  a  number  of  the  Seidl  and  Damrosch  concerts;  and,  in  the  spring  of  1892,  returned  to  Paris  and  won 
European  laurels  in  "  La  Traviata, "  "Rigoletto."  "Lucia  di  Lammermoor,"  and  "Hamlet."  .As  the  prima  donna  of  the 
famous  Bostonians,  Miss  Reid  has  added  to  her  list  of  successes,  showing  her  versatility  by  singing  such  wholly  different  roles 
as  Maid  Marian  in  "Robin  Hood,"  and  Priscilla  in  "The  Maid  of  Plymouth."  In  "Robin  Hood"  she  is  brilliant  and 
daintily  coquettish,  while  as  Priscilla  she  is  demure  and  shy.  Her  acting  is  invariably  characterized  by  a  simple,  quiet, 
unpretentious,  but  effective  manner. 


y 


-^V" 


HENRY    CLAY    BARNABEE. 

AS  a  platform  entertainer,  as  a  singer,  and  as  a  comedian,  Mr.  Barnabee  has  main- 
tained a  position  and  pursued  a  career  which  have  reflected  credit  upon  the  musical 
and  operatic  annals  of  this  country.      He  has,  not  inaptly,  been  described  as  the  Jeffer- 
son of  the  comic  opera  stage.     His  quiet  methods,  his  keen  sense  of  humor,  his  ability 
to  produce  an  honest  laugh  without  rolling  down  a  flight  of  stairs  or  the  usual  antics 
of  "knock  about"  comedians,  or  by  violating  the  unwritten  laws  of  good  comedy 
acting,  have  been,  not  inappropriately,  compared  to  those  of  the  great  Rip  \^an  Winkle, 
or   his   illustrious   relative,  the   late  William  \Varren.  whose  methods   Mr.    Barnabee 
studied  assidiously  long  before  he  thought  of  adopting  the  stage  as  a  profession.     Mr. 
Barnabee.  who  was  born  at  Portsmouth,  N.  H.,  in  1833,  spent  the  greater  part  of  his 
early  career  in  Boston,  where  he  filled  in  the  time  left  vacant  from  business,  by  reading, 
reciting,  and  acting  as  an  amateur.      He  did  not  make  his  professional  debut  until  1865. 
but,  long  before  that,  he  had  found  much  favor  in  the  amusement  circles  of  Boston. 
He  acquired  much  celebrity  by  his  singing  and  his  humor  in  an  entertainment  of  his 
own.  which  was  immensely  popular.      A  "Barnabee  night"  was  an  event  of  singular 
importance  to  the  audiences  of  the  late  sixties  in   Boston  and  the  neighborhood.     Mr. 
Barnabee's  long  and  honorable  career  on  the  stage  proper  dates  back  to  1866,  in  which 
year  he  played,  at  the   Boston   Museum,  Toby  Twinkle  in  ".All  That  Glitters  is  Not 
Gold,"  and  Cox,  to  the  Box  of  William  Warren,  at  a  benefit  performance.      Subse- 
quently, at  the  Globe  and  Boston  theatres,  he  acted  Aminadab  Sleek  in  "The  Serious 
Family,"  and  Henry  Dove  in  Buckstone's  old  comedy.  "Married  Life."     One  of  his 
earliest  successes  was  made  in  Julius   Eichberg's  operetta.   "The  Two  Cadis."     In 
"  Box  and  Cox."  and  in  a  musical  version  of  Betsy  Baker,  he  was  also  a  favorite  at 
that  time.      In  1870,  Mr.  Barnabee  organized  his  own  company  and  went  on  tour 
with  remarkable  success.     His  rendering  of  such  songs  and  sketches  as  "The  Cork 
Leg."  •'  Blue  lieard,"  "Alonzo  ye  Brave,"  "  Mrs.  Watkin's  Evening  Party."  "  Brown's 
Scren.ade,"  and  "  Monks  of  Old,"  was  the  feature  of  an  entertainment  that  was  widely 
popular  in  its   day.      Later  on,    Mr.    Barnabee   appeared   in   a  monologue  entitled, 
"  Patchwork,  or  an  Evening  with  Barnabee,"  in  which  he  was  much  admired.    The 
iirigin  of  this  entertainment,  which  for  years  held  a  prominent  place  on  the  plat- 
form stage,  was  almost  accidental.      A  call  upon  his  services  in  aid  of  a  charity, 
made  it  imperative  to  supply  an  evening's  amusement  with  as  little  expense  as 
possible.      Ml".  Barnabee  had  grave  doubts  as  to  his  ability  to  hold  the  attention 
of  the  audience  throughout  the  entire  evening,  with  no  assistance  save  that  of  his 
own  ability;  but  he  undertook  the  task,  and  liis  stories,  songs,  and  impersonations 
were  afterwards  woven  into  the  successful  "Patchwork."     Mr.  Barnabee  owes  to  Gilbert 
and  Sullivan  his  debut  on  the  comic  opera  stage,  his  first  appearance  there  having  been  made, 
in  1079,  in  an  "  Ideal "  cast  of  "  H.  ^L  S.  Pinafore."     His  quaint  rendering  of  Sir  Joseph 
Porter  obtained  much  celebrity  for  him.      Following  his  appearance  as  the  "  rulee  of  the 
Queen's  navee,"  he  created  the   Pasha  in  "  Fatinitza."     His  most  prominent  hits  of  late  years 
include  Don   Quixote,  in  Mr.  Reginald  de  Koven's  opera  of  that  name,  Chrysos  in  "Pygmalion  and 
Galatea,"  and  the  High  Sheriff  in  "  Robin  Hood."     Since  the  formation  of  the  Bostonians,  in  1887,  Mr. 
Barnabee  has.  with  Mr.  Tom  Karl  and  Mr.  W.  H.  Macdonald,  been  intimately  concerned  in  the  fortunes  and 
management  of  this  famous  company.     The  success,  by  the  way,  of  that  organization  redounds  to  the  credit 
of  its  managers  and  of  its  company,  and,  also,  to  the  judgment  of  the  public.     The  Bostonians  aim  at  producing  light  opera 
which  is  at  once  full  of  good  music  and  harmless  fun.      .Mr.  Gilbeit's  "young  lady  of  fifteen  "  might  witness  any  of  their  pro- 
ductions with  much  enjoyment  and  without  so  much  as  a  single  blush. 


,> 


f-y 


«.w^y 


"FHE  late   Miss   Brookyn 

was  a  well-knoun  and 

J    accomplished  actress,  whose 

untimely  death   is   regretted  V> 

I  J        by  many  playgoers  throughout  this  country.     She  was  born  in 
/  Cornwall.  England,  some  thirty-five  years  ago.      She  came  of 

good   family  and  was  well  educated.      The  story  of  her  ''-—-' 

connection  with  the  stage  is  but  that  of  many  another  member  of  her  pro- 
fession.    From  childhood,  she  had  a  fondness  for  the  theatre.     Her  parents 
were  abroad,  and  she  took  advantage  of    their  absence  to   join  a  theatrical 
company.      She  was  but  fifteen  years  of  age  when  she  commenced  her  stage 
adventures,  and  it  is  hardly  a  matter  of  surprise  that  her  parents  should  have 
sent  her  back  to  school.      But  the  stage  fever  was  strong  upon    her,  and    she 
returned    to    the    theatre  when    still  young.      Much  hard  work    in  the   English 
provinces  preceded  an  offer  from  Mr.  Wilson  Barrett,  who  engaged  her  to  play 
Nellie  Denver  in  Messrs.  Henry  A.  Jones  and  Henry  Herman's  fine  drama,  "  The 
Silver   King. "     But,  from  some   reason  or  another,  she  did  not  carry  out  her 
contract,  and,  leaving    England.    Miss    Brookyn  found    a    home   in  the  United 
States.      Here,  curiously  enough,  the  first  part  offered  her  was  that  of   Nellie 
Denver,  but  Miss  lirookyn  was  not  destined  to  appear  in  "The  Silver  Kng 
The  character  in  which  she  made  her  debut  in  America  was  that  of  Claire  ni 
"The  Forge  Master."     In  iS86,  she  joined  David  Bidwell's  stock  company  in 
New   (Orleans.      She    travelled  with    Mr.  Richard    Mansfield,   as    leading  lady, 
playing  among  other  parts,  Marcelle  in  "  A  Parisian   Romance."     In  iS88,  she 
was  leading   lady  with  the  elder  Salvini.     She  next  joined  Mr.  A.  M.  Palmer's 
stock  company.     She  created  Mrs.  Page  in  "Alabama,"  and  made  a  hit  by  her 
acting  as  Mrs.  Ralston  in  "Jim  the  Penman."     The  chief  success  of  her  career 
was  made  as  Mrs.  Erlynne  in  "  Lady  Windermere's  Fan."     At  the  time  of  her 
much    regretted    suicide — which    occurred,    at    San    Francisco,    on    February    15, 
1S94 — she  was  still  a  member  of  Mr.  Palmer's  organization.      Arrangements  had 
been  made  to  include  her  m  this  players'  gallery,  and.  on  the  very  day  that  her 
death  was  announced  in  New  York,  a  letter,  of  which   the  following  is  a  copy,  was 
received  here : 

"Your  letter  of  January  16  has  been   forwarded   to   me  here.      I  shall  esteem   it   a 
great  honor  to  be  included    in    your  proposed  publication.     Kindly   let  me  know  when  you 
desire  photographs  and  reading  matter.      I  would  much  rather  give  you  the  facts  and  let  you  do  the  writ- 
ing yourself.     Please  let  me  know  if  it  is  possible. 

"  Yours  faithfully, 

"  M.\Y  Brookyn." 

Miss  Brookyn's  untimely  end  is  to  be  regrettea  on  other  grounds  than  the  loss  to  the  many  people  who  appreciated  her 
acting.  It  is  sad  to  think  of  the  change  from  the  artificiality  of  the  theatre  to  the  sorrow  which  is  often  in  the  life  of  an  actress 
and  of  which  the  public  takes  no  account.  Miss  Brookyn  killed  herself  m  a  fit  of  despondency,  due  to  the  death  of  a  man  she 
loved  and  whose  loss  she  had  mourned  for  some  months.  The  exact  state  of  her  mind,  immediately  before  she  took  her  life, 
will  never  be  known.  But  she  was,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  perfectly  sane.  She  was  not  an  hysterical  woman.  Her 
death  can  only  be  attributed  to  a  burden  of  sorrow  which  she  could  no  longer  bear.  A  more  pathetic  end  to  the  career  of  one 
whose  occupation  was  found  in  pleasing  the  public  by  the  exercise  of  her  art  can  hardly  be  imagined 


4 


-14- 


^'\ 


EDWIN    BOOTH. 


He  was  seen  in  all 


pDWIN  BOOTH  was  on  the  stage  from  1849  t'"  '8 

parts  of  the  United  States,  in  the  Sandwich  and  Samoan  islands,  in  Aus- 
tralia, and  in  England,  Scotland,  Ireland,  and  Germany.  He  organized  the 
Winter  Garden  Theatre,  and  he  built  Booth's  Theatre,  in  New  York,  and  in  both 
he  was  successful.  It  has  been  customary  to  call  Booth's  Theatre  a  failure,  but 
in  fact  it  was  prosperous  while  in  Booth's  hands,  and  he  would  not  have  lost  it  but  for 
injudicious  direction  of  the  financial  affairs  connected  with  the  building  of  it,  and  bad 
advice  at  last.  The  public  was  always  sympathetic  with  him.  and  it  sustained  what- 
ever he  produced :  and  that  is  a  significant  and  highly  creditable  record,  for  nothing 
was  produced  by  him  that  was  not  good.  He  had  the  highest  sense  of  his  intellectual 
obligation  to  his  art  and  to  society,  and  he  was  public-spirited  and  unselfish  in  all  his 
conduct.  Booth  was,  essentially,  a  tragedian.  His  comedy,  indeed,  was  good,  in  a 
trenchant  way,  but  it  was  not  superlatively  good,  except  in  the  expression  of  sardonic 
or  specious  moods,  like  those  of  lago  and  Richard  the  Third.  In  tragedy  he  was 
superb.  He  possessed,  in  great  abundance,  the  qualification  of  power.  His  coun- 
tenance, whether  in  repose  or  excitement,  was  wonderfully  expressive.  His  fine  dark 
eyes  seemed  to  emit  the  light,  as  if  they  were  stars.  His  figure,  although  slight,  was 
naturally  dignified,  and  his  demeanor  was  marked  by  intrinsic  authority  and  refine- 
ment. He  had  a  clear,  sympathetic,  penetrating  voice,  and  his  articulation  was  so  dis- 
tinct that  his  lowest  tones  were  wafted  easily  to  a  long  distance.  His  delivery  of 
blank  verse  was  perfect  in  its  music  and  in  its  meaning.  The  eyebrows  were,  in  his 
case,  extraordinary  for  shape,  curvature,  and  Hexibihty — a  very  valuable  attribute  to  an 
actor — although  incidental  and  see.Tiingly  trivial.  His  movements,  especially  when  he 
acted  Richard  the  Third,  or  Pescara,  or  Sir  Giles  Overreach,  were  iithe,  rapid,  sinister, 
and  terrible,  like  those  of  a  panther.  He  could  rise  to  the  most  exacting  occasions  in 
tragedy — such,  for  example,  as  Othello's  passion,  Macbeth's  frenzy,  and  Lear's  invective. 
His  tones  were  not  nearly  as  deep  as  those  of  Forrest,  who  had  the  strongest  voice  that 
has  been  heard  upon  the  stage  in  our  time ;  nor,  as  to  sonority,  did  they  equal  those  of 
Brooke  or  those  of  Salvini;  but  he  produced  an  effect  with  them  that  no  other  tragedian 
of  this  age  has  equalled,  by  reason  of  their  sympathetic  quality.  They  went  directly  to 
the  heart.  His  utterance  of  Hamlet's  delirious  outcry,  "  Nav,  I  know  notl  Is  it  the 
King  ? "  was  tremendous  in  its  force  and  overwhelming  with  its  weight  of  commingled 
emotions.  His  delivery  of  Richelieu's  awful  menace,  bursting  from  the  artistic  repose  of 
tense  and  quivering  excitement,  leapt  like  the  lightning  from  a  cloud,  and  carried  all  before 
it.  In  the  death  scenes  of  Richard  and  Macbeth  he  was  so  terrible,  in  the  viper-like  fury 
with  which  he  braved  his  enemies  and  fought  to  the  last  gasp,  that  sometimes  it  was 
scarcely  possible  to  look  upon  him ;  and  no  one  ever  saw  those  sights  without  a  thrill  of 
horror.  By  those  denotements  he  ju.stified  his  claim  to  the  title  of  tragedian.  He  was 
powerful  wherever  power  was  required,  and  the  spectator  of  his  acting  never  had  to 
make  allowance  for  lack  of  etficiency.  The  effect  that  was  needed  was  always  pro- 
duced. Such  a  situation  as  that  in  which  Lucius  Brutus  curses  Tarquin,  at  midnight,  in 
the  tempest,  awakened  all  Booth's  tragic  force,  and  he  poured  forth  a  torrent  of  imprecation 
that  seemed  to  shrivel  his  antagonist  as  with  consuming  flame.  Bertuccio,  pleading  at  the 
door  of  the  banquet  room,  and  Lear,  in  the  impotence  of  hall-accomplished  lunacy,  threat- 
ening revenges  that  he  has  no  ability  to  compass,  gave  him  great  opportunities  that  were 
greatly  fulfilled.  He  needed  moments  of  that  description  to  arouse  him.  He  was  an  un- 
even actor,  and  not  always  at  his  best,  but  when  he  was  at  his  best,  it  was.  in  tragedy,  the 
best  this  age  has  seen. 

WiLLi.AM  Winter. 


-16- 


HELENA    MODJESKA. 

XHE   retirement   from    public    life  of   the 
distinguished  Polish   actress  will   be  a 
distinct  loss  to  the  English-speaking  stage. 
America,  especially,  which  has  been  a  home      t 
to  her  since  1S78,  will  be  affected  by  the  ab- 
sence from  its  theatre  of   Helena  Modjeska 
who,  wisely  for  her  own  sake,  has  decided  not 
to  "lag   superfluous    on    the    stage."     Madame 
Modjeska  holds  her  own  among  the  great  artists 
of  the  world.      Her  adopted  country  owes  her  a 
debt  which  should   not  be  forgotten,  and  which  can- 
not  well    be    repaid.      She    has  given   to  America  superb 
renderings   of    many   Shakespearean   heroines   and    many 
characters  in  the  later  classic  plays.     A  woman  like  Mod- 
jeska cannot  be  judged  by  any  of  the  ordinary  methods  of 
criticism.      She   is   a   distinct   individuality  and  she  imbues 
whatever  part  she  plays  a-ith  her  own  nature.     Fortunately, 
that   nature  is  a  fine  one.      It  is  the  nature  of   the  artist. 
It  can  be  seen  in  whatever  character  she  undertakes,  be  it 
Adrienne,  Camille,  Juliet,  Rosalind,  or  Portia.     She   is   a 
little   too  feline  on   the  stage  for  all  parts.      She  has  the 
panther's   undulating  grace   and   its    attractiveness.       She 
fills  the  stage  completely,  she  draws  and  retains  attention. 
In  watching  her,  even    for   the   first  time,  you  feel   that   a 
woman   of    uncommon    ability   is    before    you.      Her    finely- 
modelled,  expressive  face,  and  her  quick,  flashing  eyes,  which  glow 
with    the    light   of  intellect,  illumine    whatever   scene   she    plays. 
She  is  one  of  the  few  actresses  of  the  world  who  have  fire  in  their 
composition.     She  gives  life  to  whatever  she  touches.     The  radi- 
ance of    her  own   nature    permeates  the  part.     When   she  first 
played  Juliet,  I  was  sent  from  London  to  witness  her  performance. 
And,  even   at   this    distance    of  time,  1    can   recall    how  she  im- 
pressed  me  with  a  sense  of  power,  how  her  earlier  scenes,  although 
wanting  in  girlishness  and  simplicity,  gave  good  promise  of  fine  acting 
to  come,  and  how  that  promise  was  realized  by  her  thrilling  acting  in 
the  potion  scene.      Modjeska's  training  and  long  experience  enable  her 
to  keep    herself  well  in  hand,  to  hold  her  forces   in   reserve,  not  to  let 
herself  go  until  the  proper   moment.     She  constantly  suggests  power, 
but  she  seldom   uses   it.      It  is  with   her  a  case  of  the  much   discussed 
"reserve   force."     Only,  with  Modjeska,  the  force  is  ready  when  it  is 
required.      We  found  that  out  m   England  when   she   played   Adrienne 
Lecouvreur  and  made  a  fine  effect  by  the  dignity,  as  well  as  the  magnif- 
icent power,  with  which  she  acted  the  famous  scene,  in  the  third  act, 
from  "Phedre."      Londoners,  who  remember  her  chiefly  by  her  exqui- 
site acting  in   "Heartsease" — James  Mortimer's  clever  adaptation  of 
"  La  Dame  aux  Camelias  " — have  seen  too  little  of  this  gifted  and  ac- 
complished  actress.      London's   loss  has  been  America's  gain.      It  is  to  be  hoped   that 
this  actress  will  not  be  allowed  to  depart  for  her  native  land  without  a  fitting  testimonial 
to  her  merit  from  her  brother  and  sister  artists  and  from  the  public. 


-18— 


LEONARD    BOYNE. 

MR.  BOYXE   has   not  been  twelve  months   here,  but. 
from    the    first,   he   estabHshed    himself    with   the 
American  audience,  and  he  has  already  become  an  important  factor  in  the 
theatre  of  this  country.      The  character  of  Captain  Harry  Vernon,  which,  so 
far,  has  been  his  only  opportunity  for  showing  his  mettle,  is  not  by  aiiy-^  means 
a  brilliant  one.     But  it  proves  what  earnestness  can  do  for  an  actor.     ""' 
of  such  a  play  as  "The  Prodigal  Daughter,"  must  be  sincere      "" 
sincerity  in  his   (ace,  in  his  voice,  in  his  acting;  otherwise,  there  would  be  no  m- 
terest  in  him.     This  sincerity  has  been  a  wonderful  help  to  Mr.  Boyne  through- 
out his  career,  and  it  has  stood  him  in  good  stead  in  his  new  home — for  an  actor 
of    such   ability  will  not   be   readily  allowed   to   depart   from    these    hospitable 
shores.      Another  factor  in  Mr.  Boyne's  success  is  an  air  of  distinction  which 
covers  all  that  he  does.     When  he  appears  as  a  gentleman,  he  is  a  gentleman, 
not  an  actor  with  the  veneer  of  one.     For  this,  his  birth,  education,  and  subse- 
quent training  and  experience  are  responsible.      He  conies  of  an  old  Irish  county 
family.      Most  of  his  ancestors  were  in  the  army,  some  in  the  church,  others  in 
the   Irish  Civil  Service.     It  was  while  "cramming"   for  the  army,  in  Dublin, 
that  he  elected  to  enter  the  dramatic  profession,  instead  of  becoming  an  officer 
in  a  cavalry  regiment,  a  position  requiring  a  larger  expenditure  than  he  was  jus- 
tified in  making.      His  first  successes  were  won   in   Dubhn,  but  it  was   not   long 
before  London  recognized  his  talent.      For  the  last  fifteen  years  or  so.  there  has 
not  been  anv  more  popular  leading  young   man,  or,  be  it  remarked  incidentally, 
a  more  highly  paid  one,  in  London.     His  record  there  is  one  of  unbroken  suc- 
cess.     It  "commenced  with  Midwinter  in  "Miss  Gwilt,"  in   1876,  and  ended,  for 
the  time  being,  with  Harrv  A'ernon  in  "The  Prodigal  Daughter,"  in  1893.      In 
the  meantime,  he  had  acted  Romeo  and  Benedick  with  the  best  female  stars  of 
the   day,   throughout   the   English  provinces,  where,  also,  he  was  the   original 
Harold' Army tage  in  "The  Lights  o'  London,"  and  the  original  Claudian.    Tom 
Jones,  in   Mr.  Robert   Buchanan's  play  of  that  name,  Andreas   in   the  English 
version  of  "  Theodora,"   and  George  d'Alroy  in  "Caste,"  are  to  be  included  m 
his  chief  London  successes.     At  the  Adelph'i,  he  won  increased  favor  as  Badger  ^ 
in  "The  Streets   of  London,"  Harry  O'Mailey  in  "The  English   Rose," 
Cuthbert  Cuthbertsone  in  "  The  Trumpet   Call,"  and  Colonel  Everard  m 
"  The  White  Rose."    At  London's  other  great  melodramatic  house,  Drur>' 
Lane,  he  was,  in  addition  to  Harry  Vernon,  the  origmal  \'yvyan  Foster 
in  "  The  Armada."     But  the  great'success  of  his  career  has  been  Captain 
Walter  Leigh  in  "Sister  Mary,"  a  character  in  which  he  will  be  seen  in 
New  York  in   May.     Mr.  Boyne's   high  position   has  not  been  achieved 
without  hard  work,  added  to  the  natural  capacity  for  acting.    He  is  equally 
at  home  with  a  coach  and  four-in-hand  and  on  the  stage.      He  is  a  capital 
horseman,  and  is  known  among  his  friends  as  a  "good  fellow."     But  his 
success  is  not  due  to  outside  or  personal  influence.     It  has  been  made  by  down- 
right  good   acting.       One  of   the   chief  qualities  of  Mr.  Boyne's   acting  is   his 
power   of   holding    his    audience.       He    has    presence,  but  he  has  power,  too. 
Therein    he    differs    from    the   ordinary   leading   young   man.      He    impresses 
with   his  earnestness,  his  belief  in  what  he  is  doing.     He  holds  his  audience  in 
the  hollow  of  his  hand,  so  to  speak.     He  has  the  actor's  ability  for  depicting 
character,  but  he  has  a  strong  personality,  so  that  he  stamps  all  his  performances 
with  his  individuality.     And  the  most  notable  thing  about  his  individuality  is  his 
earnestness  in  whatever  he  does.      It  may  possibly  seem  unnecessary  to  praise 
earnestness  on  the  stage,  for  earnestness  is  essential  to  acting  in  its  highest  form. 
But   many  of  our  younger  players  are  sadly  deficient  in  sincerity,  an  element 
which  has  had  much  to  do  with  Mr.  Boyne's  success. 


'^«     ^- 


♦*-.;* 


JESSIE    BARTLETT    DAVIS. 


Y\/HEN  nature  wishes  to  be  particularly  generous  she  selects  a 

beautiful  woman,  and,  after  endowing  her  with  a  lovely 

voice  and  that  touch  of  genius  without  which  even  the  most  perfect 

of  voices  is  but  an  inanimate  thing,  adds  the  qualities  of  ambition. 

energy,  and  perseverance;  a  rare  combination,  indeed,  but  one  that 

IS  indispensable  if  the  result  is  to  be  a  great  artist.      And  to  many — 

probably  the  largest  proportion — of  music  lovers,  the  acme  of  this 

perfection  is  reached  when  that  voice  is  the  deep-toned  organ  of  the 

contralto,  with    its   sensuous    diapason    of  full,    rich    color — "  Violet," 

fi  ,^^  George  -Sand  calls  it — and  its  tender  loveliness  that  appeals  so  directly 

J  iLj^       rfli^VA  to  the  heart.      A  perfect  tmbodiment  of  these  essentials  of  a  true  artist 

e     (  WP'^ii^'Wt  'w^  '^  ''^^  subject  of  the  present  notice,  Jessie  Bartlett  Davis,  who  stands 

'    i  Ml    WU^   M  to-day  at  the  very  head  of  her  profession,  and  is  a  worthy  successor  to 

the  position  and  triumphs  of  the  two  famous  American  contraltos  who 
have  preceded   her — Adelaide  Phillips  and  Annie  Louise  Gary.      With 
a  voice  of  the  most  comprehensive  register  and  incomparable  beauty  of 
tone  quality,  Mrs.  Davis  combines  an  intelligence  of  the  rarest  order, 
embracing,  as  it  does  at  once,  the  musical  intuition  of  the  born  singer 
and  an  absolutely  unerring  dramatic  instinct.      These  gifts  of  nature, 
supplemented  with  the  knowledge  and  experience  that  comes  alone  of 
the  most  faithful  application  and  unwearying,  earnest  study,  have  not 
failed  to  win  the  recognition  they  have  richly  merited,  and  to-day  Mrs. 
Davis  may  be  justly  classed  among  the  first  favorites  of  our  public, 
which  is  always  prompt   to  discern  true  merit.      The  early  career  of 
every  artist  who  attains  distinction  is  one  of  work — much  work  and 
hard  work.      And  Jessie  Bartlett  Davis  has  not  been  spared  her  share 
of  this;  the  ladder  of  fame  has  not  been  scaled  without  much  effort. 
From  the  day  of  her  debut — as  a  mere  child — with  Caroline  Richings, 
through  her  successive  engagements  with  the  Carleton  company  and 
the  ill-fated  but  brilliant  seasons  of  the  American  opera,  she  has  studied 
and  played  many  parts,  ranging  from  Little  Buttercup,  in  '•  If.  M.  S. 
Pinafore,"  to  Ortrud  in  "  Lohengrin,"  gathering  from  each  new  laurels 
as  a  singer  and  new  experiences  of  her  art  as  an  actress.      Thus  it 
came  that  when — after  an  additional  term  of  study  abroad — she  ac- 
cepted the  position  as  leading  contralto  of  the  Bostonians,  she  did  so 
fully  equipped   for  the   wide   range   of   parts   in   which   she   has  since 
become  famous,  playing  Fatinitza  on  one  evening.   Carmen  the  next, 
Azucena  on  the  third,  Allen-a-dale  on  the  fourth,  and  so  on ;  alternating 
between  comedy  and  tragedy  with  unvarying  success,  and  singing  the 
roles  of  a  mezzo-soprano  or  contralto  with  equal  beauty  of  voice  and 
charm  of  style.      Her  triumphs  in  "Lakme,"  "Faust,"  "The  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor,"  and  other  great  works  when  she  was  a  member 
'"^  of   the   American   Opera  company,   are  part  of  the   musical  history  of  the 

country.  During  the  recent  season  of  the  Bostonians  in  New  York,  she  has 
been  seen  as  an  Indian  girl  in  two  pieces,  first  of  all,  in  "The  Maid  of  Plymouth,"  and 
then  in  "The  Olgallalas."  This  brief  review  may  be  fittingly  concluded  with  an  extract 
from  an  article  which  appeared  in  T//f  Ilhtsirated  Aiiierican  in  August,  1892:  "Jessie 
Bartlett  Davis  is  as  beautiful  as  she  is  talented.  Her  face  is  of  exquisite  mould,  with 
eyes  bright  with  the  light  of  intellectuality:  her  figure  is  superb,  and  in  organization  she  is  loving,  fervent,  modest,  brave — the 
very  type  of  a  true  woman's  nature. 


/. 


*  *^    "^sg^ 


/^ 


BELLKW. 

A  MONG  the  romantic  actors  of  to-day,  Mr,  Bellew  easily  holds  the  first  place. 
His  roving  life  has  not  been  the  best  possible  aid  to  his  reputation.  Had 
he  remained  in  one  of  the  great  cities  of  the  English-speaking  playgoing  world, 
he  would  have  held  even  a  far  higher  place  in  public  estimation  than  that  which 
he  occupies  at  present.  The  theatrical  public  is  the  most  conservative  under  the  sun. 
It  likes  to  have  its  pet  actors  constantly  in  evidence.  The  longer  a  player  stavs  on 
the  same  ground,  the  longer  he  may  do  so.  His  ability  becomes  an  accepted  fact,  his 
good  points  are  placed  to  his  account,  his  bad  ones  are  forgotten.  He  becomes,  in- 
deed, something  nearer  akin  than  the  actor.  He  becomes  a  familiar.  We  may  not 
know  him  personally,  but  we  regard  him  as  a  friend.  He  establishes  himself  in  the 
hearts  of  the  people,  and  there  he  may  remain  so  long  as  he  chooses.  It  is  fourteen 
years  since  the  late  Marie  Litton  drew  all  London  to  the  Imperial  Theatre — an  out 
of  the  way  house,  attached  to  the  notorious  Westminster  Aquarium — to  witness  one 
of  the  most  exquisite  Shakespearean  revivals  of  modern  times.  The  transient  nature 
of  the  actor's  art  could  not  be  better  exemplified  than  by  a  reference  to  that  pro- 
duction of  "As  You  Like  It."  It  was  a  poetical  revival,  it  had,  in  its  scenery  no  less 
than  its  acting,  the  poetical  atmosphere.  The  Rosalind  of  Miss  Litton  was  a  beautiful 
performance,  and  the  Orlando  of  Kyrle  Bellew  stepped  from  the  very  forests  of  Arden. 
.A  little  while,  however,  and  all  is  forgotten.  The  popular  player  is  of  the  day  and  the 
hour,  not  of  the  past.  But  there  are  many  students  of  the  stage  and  lovers  of  good 
acting  who  have  pleasant  recollections  of  a  certain  Orlando  and  a  certain  Romeo 
who  has  not  since  been  equalled  either  in  the  romantic  appearance  so  necessary  for 
those  parts,  or  in  the  right  reading  of  them,  or  in  the  superb  acting  of  them.  The 
world  at  large  has  benefited  by  Mr.  Bellew's  restless  nature,  but  it  would  have  been 
better  for  his  own  reputation  had  he  remained,  for  instance,  in  London.  He  possesses, 
more  liberally  than  any  other  actor  of  to-day,  the  qualifications  for  an  impersonator  of 
the  romantic  drama.  His  clear-cut,  mobile  face,  his  expressive  eye,  his  lithe,  supple 
figure,  and,  above  all,  his  melodious  and  penetrating  voice,  fit  him  in  no  ordinary  degree 
for  his  chosen  calling.  He  has  had  a  wide  experience  of  the  stage,  and,  what  is  better,  a 
wide  experience  of  life.  He  has  travelled  all  over  the  civilized  world,  noting  men  and 
manners,  with  a  result  that  he  has  a  natural  ease  in  whatever  part  he  may  be  called  upon 
to  play.  Ti.i  recount  the  various  characters  in  which  he  has  won  fame,  would  be  too  long 
a  task.  But,  of  my  own  recollection,  I  can  speak  of  others  than  his  Orlando  and  his 
Romeo.  His  Charles  Surface,  his  Jack  .Absolute,  and  his  Young  Marlow  deserve  to  be 
handed  down  to  posterity  in  the  history  of  "  The  School  for  Scandal,"  '■  The  Rivals,"  and 
"She  Stoops  to  Conquer."  His  David  Garrick  is  remarkable  for  its  polish  and  its  light 
touch.  The  refined  cruelty  of  his  Baron  Scarpia  in  "La  Tosca  "  has  not  been  excelled  by 
any  other  player,  French  or  English.  His  Claude  Melnotte  and  his  Armand  Duval  are 
also  to  be  counted  among  his  finest  performances.  I  have  not  witnessed  his  Antony  or 
his  Hamlet.  But  I  know  that  he  must  have  distinguished  himself  in  both  characters.  Al- 
though he  can  play  a  modern  part  very  admirably,  he  is  at  his  best  in  costume,  not  on 
account  of  the  dress,  but  because  he  is  steeped  in  romance  and  his  style  belongs  to  other 
days.  Let  it  not  be  inferred  that  he  is  stilted.  (.)n  the  contrary,  he  is  eminently  natural, 
but  he  has  not  the  modern  air  inseparable  from  some  players.  He  is  essentially  a  romantic 
actor,  and  the  drama  of  to-day  has  little  to  do  with  romance.  The  mere  wearing  of  a 
wig,  the  addition  of  powder  and  patches,  or  the  hanging  of  a  sword,  or  the  fashion  of  a 
cloak,  do  not  constitute  an  actor  of  romantic  characters.  The  player  of  these  parts  must 
possess,  as  Mr.  Bellew  possesses,  the  atmosphere  and  the  feeling  incidental  to  them. 


-5> 


l^ 


'  I'll 


Vi3^ 


CORA  URQUHART  POTTER. 

"   /r        ASPIRANTS  for  histrionic  fame  may  find 
i|[  much  encouragement  in  the  public  ca- 

V  reer  of   Mrs.   Potter.     They  may  also  take 

,'  from  it  a  lesson  which  will  depress  them  if 

they  are  not  possessed  of  vast  determination. 
For  Mrs.  Potter's  path  has  not  been  strewn 
with  roses.    The  success  which  she  has  met  with 
has  been  great,  and,  in  view  of  the  obstacles  which 
she  has  encountered,  very  remarkable.     I  well  re- 
member her  first  appearance  on  the  stage,  at  the 
London  Haymarket,  seven  years  ago.     As  Anne  -Syl- 
vester in   W'ilkie   CoUins's  drama,  "Man  and  Wife,"  she 
was  greeted,  if  not  with  a  chorus  of  praise,  at  least  by  the 
discriminating  approbation  of  a  few.      It  was  a  good  per- 
formance, instinct  with  true  feeling  and  marked  by  the  air 
of  refinement  which  distinguishes  all  Mrs.  Potter's  work. 
When,  later  on  in  the  same  season,  she  appeared  at  the 
Gaiety  Theatre  in  "Civil  War"  and  "  Loyal  Love,"  she 
was  recognized  by  the  London  critics  as  an  actress  of  un- 
common ability.     Her  first  appearance  in  New  York,  made 
at  the  Fifth   Avenue  Theatre  in  October,  1887,  in  "Mile, 
de  Hremier, "  was  followed  by  "Loyal  Love."     Within  the 
ne.xt   two   years,   she   added    Juliet,    Pauline,   Elizabeth   in 
Tuixt  Axe  and  Crown,"  Kate   Hardcastle,  Cleopatra,  and 
_  Camille  to  her  repertoire.      She  did  not  receive  that  recognition 
here  to  which  she  was  entitled  by  her  merits  as  an  actress.     So,  in 
company  with  Mr.  Kyrle  Bellew,  who  had  been  her  leading  man 
ever  since  her  appearance  at  the  London  Gaiety,  she  sailed  for 
Australia  under  engagement  to  the  chief  management  there.      She 
opened  in  Melbourne  on  March  i,  1S90,  as  Camille.     Her  Austra- 
lian experience  was  a  bitter  one.     She  met  with  hostile,  and,  I  am 
bound  to  say,  unjust  criticism  at  the  hands  of  tlie  local  press,  with 
the  result  that  her  first  season  in  Melbourne  was  a  failure  and  her  ar- 
tistic nature  received  a  severe  rebuff.      In  Sydney,  however,  she  had  a 
very  different  reception.      Her  methods  were  explained,  her  merits  were 
recognized.      The  theatre  was  crowded  throughout  the  seven  weeks  of 
her  engagement,  and  she  won  the  hearty  approbation  of  one  of  the  most 
critical  audiences  in  the  world.      Her  first  part  in  Sydney  was  Floria 
Tosca,  a  character  which  she  played  with  infinite  grace,  delicacy,  and 
no  little  power.      Her  Camille.  a  beautiful  and  exceedingly  pathetic  im- 
personation, was,  however,  the  great  favorite  with  the  Sydney  audience. 
That,  and  "  La  Tosca,"  drew,  as  they  deserved  to  do.  the  largest  houses. 
But  there  was  praise,  and  high  praise,  too,  for  her  Frou-Frou,  for  her 
Kate   Hardcastle,  and  for  her  \'iolet  in   "David  Garrick."     During  a 
subsequent  visit,  she  acted  Juliet,  Mile,  de  Bremier,  and  Hero  in  "Hero 
and  Leander. "     But  none  of  her  subsequent  performances  eclipsed  her 
Camille  or  her  Floria  Tosca.     The  playgoers  of  Sydney  have  a  warm  regard  for  this 
actress.     They  hold  her  in  high  estimation.      Their  appreciation  atoned  in  some  measure 
for  the  cruel  treatment  which  she  received  in  Melbourne,  even  if  it  did  not  obliterate  it. 


-^'. 


V 


f\ 


^.^  -  ^^ 


EUGENE    COWLES. 

'  ^^^^^"B^  ■^F^  I      TTHERE  is  no  more  popular  member  of  the  famous  Bo.s- 

tonians  than  its  talented  young  basso,  Mr.  Eugene 
Cowles,  whose  spirited  singing  and  virile  appearance  make 
him  a  chief  attraction  to  that  company.  Mr.  Cowles  conies 
from  Stanstead,  Quebec,  one  of  the  coldest  corners  of 
Canada,  where  his  father  has  practiced  his  profession  as 
a  doctor  for  close  upon  half  a  century.  His  family  was 
musical  and  contained  a  number  of  good  singers,  in  ad- 
dition to  which  nearly  every  member  was  an  instrumen- 
talist, young  Cowles  himself  being  an  expert  upon  various 
kinds  of  musical  instruments.  When  in  his  early  teens,  the  subject  of 
this  sketch  went  to  Chicago,  where  he  soon  found  employment  in  the  First 
National  Bank.  There  he  remained  for  several  \ears,  occupying  a  number  of  differ- 
ent positions,  each  one  better  than  the  other.  During  this  period  of  his  life  he  gave 
his  leisure  hours  to  the  study  of  vocal  music.  He  jomed  various  church  choirs,  making 
much  success  therein,  until,  meeting  with  Messrs.  McDonald  and  Barnabee  at  a  gathering 
of  the  local  Press  Club,  he  received  an  offer  from  the  Bostonians  which  induced  him  to  abandon 
his  business  pursuits  and  take  to  the  stage,  where  he  has  since  become  such  a  valuable  member. 
He  made  an  unexpected  appearance  with  the  Bostonians  at  the  end  of  November,  iS88 — unex- 
pected, for  the  reason  that  it  was  in  a  part  which  he  had  not  thought  within  his  range.  The 
then  leading  basso  of  the  company  was  suddenly  taken  ill  and  the  character  of  Squire  Bantam,  in 
•'  Dorothy,"  devolved  upon  Mr.  Cowles  at  a  moment's  notice.  He  was  much  too  large  for  the  cos- 
tume of  the  other  basso,  and  the  Bostonians  often  tell  with  merriment  of  the  fantastic  figure  which 
he  cut  on  that  occasion.  At  the  conclusion  of  this  performance,  it  was  a  matter  of  doubt  among  the  meiTibers 
of  the  company  whether  Mr.  Cowles  was  a  lion  basso  or  a  lion  comique.  During  the  season  of  1888-S9,  he  sang  several  dif- 
ferent roles,  among  them  General  Kantchukoff  in  "  Fatinitza,"  the  Count  in  "  The  Poachers,"  Beppo  in  •'  Fra  Diavolo,"  Lotario 
in  "Mignon,"  and  Count  Arnheim  in  "The  Bohemian  Girl."  Mr.  Cowles  expresses  a  decided  preference  for  the  last  two 
operas  named,  although  he  has  won  more  applause  for  the  rendition  of  the  armorer's  song  in  "Robin  Hood,"  which  was 
written  expressly  for  him  by  Mr.  Reginald  de  Koven  after  a  careful  study  of  the  quality  and  capabilities  of  his  voice.  But  he 
has  sung  the  armorer's  song  very  much  more  frequently  and  in  rather  more  critical  localities  where  it  would  naturally  call  for 
extended  comment.  Mr.  Cowles  has  a  difficult  task  in  following  Mr.  Myron  Whitney  in  the  Bostonians,  but  he  has  come  out  of 
the  ordeal  with  flying  colors'.  He  is  a  favorite  in  all  the  big  cities  of  the  United  States.  In  Chicago,  especially,  his  appearance 
is  often  the  subject  for  a  demonstration.  He  made  many  friends  there,  and  it  is  by  no  means  unusual  when  he  visits  that 
city  for  his  old  fellow  clerks  of  the  First  National  Bank  to  secure  a  large  section  of  the  theatre  for  the  purpose  of  bestowing  a 
hearty  welcome  on  their  comrade  of  other  days.  Even  in  the  far  West,  Mr.  Cowles  is  well  and  favorably  known,  as  the  fol- 
lowing extract  from  a  leading  San  Francisco  paper  testifies.  "  Mr.  Eugene  Cowles,  as  Will  Scarlett  in  '  Robin  Hood,"  is  an 
agent  for  good.  His  perfectly  graceful  and  sinewy  figure,  his  general  virile  air,  should  make  an  impression  on  the  young 
men  of  the  period  as  to  what  is  possible  if  natural  conditions  of  life  are  observed.  His  splendid  voice — resonant,  deep,  and 
penetrating — breathes  manhood  in  its  every  tone.  If  sung  by  him  in  war  time,  no  man  with  any  pith  and  vigor  would  fail  to 
enlist  after  hearing  his  rendering  of  the  armorer's  song  or  the  old  '  Cross  Bow.'     They  both  suggest  muscle  and  music." 

"huzza  for  the  anvil,  the  forge,  and  the  sledge  ! 
Huzza  for  the  sparks  that  fly  ! 
If  I  had  a  cup  I  would  straightway  pledge 
The  armorer — that  is  I." 

These  lines,  from  the  armorer's  song,  are  typical,  not  only  of  Will  Scarlett,  but  of  the  manliness  of  the  singer  of  them. 
Mr.  Cowles,  who  is  still  young,  has  a  bright  future  in  store. 


-28- 


~> 


THERESA  VAUGHN. 

THE    burlesque    called    "  1492," 
and    Miss    Theresa    \'aughn, 
owe  an  obligation  to  one  another. 
The  long  run  of  the  piece  in  New 
York  has  enabled  a  delightful  and 
thorough  artist  to  win  for  herself  many  thou- 
sands of  new  admirers.      And  it  is  a  matter  of 
fact,  not  of  opinion  only,  that  the  presence  of  Miss 
\'aughn  has  had  much  to  do  with  the  success  of 
the  extravaganza,  which,  thanks  largely  to  her  ef- 
forts, has  enjoyed,  and  is  still  enjoying,  a  run  out 
of  proportion   to  its  intrinsic   merits.     The  uncer- 
tainty of  theatrical  affairs  could  not  be  better  exem- 
plified than  by  this  instance.    The  hit  of  "  1492  "  is  made 
in  the  second  act  by  the  German  songs  rendered  by  Miss 
\'aughn  in  character  as  Friiulein,  (he  Waif.     In  the  original 
version,  however,  there  was  no  such  part,  and  Miss  \'aughn 
was  confined  to  the  first  and  third  acts.      Thanks  to  her  own 
idea  and  suggestion,  she  obtained  a  place  in  the  second  act. 
The  royal  robes  of  the   Infanta  Joanna  were  discarded  for  a 
tattered  skirt  and  a  broken  hat.      Miss  \'aughn  disguised  her  own 
brunette  beauty  beneath  a  flaxen  wig,  and,  banjo  in  hand,  the 
Waif  was  no  sooner  seen  and  heard,  than  she  became  first  favor- 
ite with  the  audience.     The  popularity  of  the  impersonation  was 
instantly  assured,  the  picturesque  appearance  of  the  actress,  fol- 
lowed by  her  sweet  singing,  winning  her  a  place  in  the  hearts  of 
the  audience  which   Miss  Vaughn  securely  holds.      People  come  to 
the  theatre  oyer  and  over  again  to  hear  her  in  the  second  act  alone. 
They  are  never  tired  of  the  repetition.    The  part  originally  allotted  to  Miss 
Vaughn  is  so  small  that  strangers,  who  are  not  apt  to  pay  any  particular 
attention  to  the  first  act,  rub  their  eyes  in  surprise  when  the  Waif  appears, 
and  wonder  who  the  impersonator  of  the  pretty  and  forlorn  German  girl 
can  be.     All  her  little  songs  in  this  scene  are  charming,  but  the  best  of  all 
is  "  Annie  Rooney."     It  speaks  wonderfully  for  the  gifts  of  this  artist  that 
she  can  put  new  life  into  so  old  and  hackneyed  a  number  and  make  it  the 
more  enjoyable  the  more  frequently  it  is  heard.      Familiarity,  in  the  case  of 
the  German  ".Annie  Rooney, "  means  increased  favor.      The  great  popu- 
larity of  Miss  \'aughn  is  largely  due  to  an  attractive  personality.      It  is  not 
only  that  her  face  possesses  character  as  well  as  mere  prettiness,  or  that  she 
is  versed  in  stage  experience,  or  that  she  is  eminently  graceful  in  her  move- 
ments, or  that  her  voice  is  clear,  and  deep,  and  sympathetic.      In  addition 
to  all  these  qualities,  she  has  the  added  charm  of  womanliness,  and  of  nat- 
uralness.     She  is  distinctly  feminine,  but  not  doll-like,  and  artificiality  is  not  pos- 
sible with  her.      That    she  has  versatility,    is  shown  by  her  singing  of   "Love, 
.Sweet  Love,"  in  the  third  act,  which  is  in  direct  contrast  to  the  "character"  sketch, 
and  songs,  of  the  Waif.     It  seems  strange  to  me  that  an  artist  who  could  success- 
fully act  and  sing  Tessa,  in  "The  Gondoliers,"  should  not  have  been  provided 
witii  a  part  containing  even  greater  opportunities  for  distinction  than  that  in  which 
Miss  \'aughn  has  so  long  pleased  the  playgoers  of  Boston  and  New  York.      Her 
popularity,  nevertheless,  could  hardly  be  greater  than  it  is  at  present.     She  pos- 
sesses the  same  charm  which  made  the  late  J.  K.  Emmet  so  vast  a  favorite,  in 
England  as  well  as  in  America,  in  his  best  days.      Her  voice,  like  that  of  the  first  Fritz, 
touches  the  heart.      And  she  has  a  delicacy,  a  refinement  of  manner,  which  is  by  no  means 
common  on  the  comic  opera  stage.     She  was  but  a  child  when,  ten  years  ago,  she  went  on  the 
stage.     She  has  youth  in  her  favor,  and  a  brilliant  career  before  her.     At  present,  she  stands 
alone  amid  surroundings  which  would  depress  anyone  but  a  true  artist. 


JOSEPH 


"ERSON. 


THE  reason  why  Joseph  Jefferson  is  so   renowned  and 
so  universally  beloved,  has   been  succintly  set  forth 
by  William  Winter  in  his  delightful  "Shadows  of  the  Stage, "  volumes  which 
should   be  in  every  theatrical  library.      The  cause  of  this  effect  explains  at 
once  his  acting  and  the  honor  to  which  it  is  entitled.     That  cause  is  stated  by 
the  eminent  critic  in  a  single  sentence:   "Jefferson  is  at  once   a  poetic  and  a 
human  actor,  and  he  is  thus  able  to  charm  ail  minds  and  win  all  hearts."     Jef- 
ferson is  an  actor  who  does  not  confine  himself  to  custom   or  conventionality. 
He  has  met  with  abundant  success  as  an  actor,  chiefly,  in  the  minds  of  the  peo- 
ple, at  any  rate,  as   Rip  Van  Winkle,  and,  also,  as  Caleb   Plummer,  as   Bob 
Acres,  as  Dr.  Pangioss,  as   Dr.  Ollapod,   as   Mr.  Golightly,  and  as   Hugh  de 
Brass.      A.  great  fund  of   humor  and  a  high   intellectual  personality,  together 
ivith    a   vast    deal  of   pathos,   have   helped    to   place    him  on    the    pinnacle  of 
fame.      "When    you    are    looking   at   Jefferson    as    Acres    in    the    duel    scene 
in    'The     Rivals',"    says    his    biographer,    "you    laugh    at    him,    but    almost 
you  laugh  through  your  tears.     When  you  see  Jefferson  as  Rip  Van  Winkle 
confronting    the   ghosts    on   the  mountain    top   at   midnight,    you   see    a   dis- 
play of  imaginative  personality  quite   as   high  as  that  of  Hamlet,  in  tremulous 
sensibility  to  supernatural  influence,  although  wholly  apart  from   Hamlet  in  alti- 
tude of  intellect  and  in  anguish  of  experience.      The  poetry  of  the   impersona- 
tion, though,  is  entirely  consonant  with  Hamlet,  and  that  is  the  secret  of  Jeffer- 
son's exceptional   hold  upon   the  heart  and  the  imagination  of  his  time.     The 
public  taste  does  not  ask  Jefferson  to  trifle  with  his  art.      Its  deep,  spontaneous, 
natural  preference  feels  that  he  is  a  true  actor,  and  so  yields  to  his  power,  and 
enjoys  his  charm,  and  is  all  the  time  improved  and  made  titter  to  enjoy  it.      He 
has  reached  as  great    a    height  as  it  is  possible    to    reach    in    his   profession. 
He  could,  if  he  chose,  play  greater  parts  than  he  has  ever  attempted  ;  he  could 
not  give  a  better  exemplification   than   he  gives,  in   his  chosen  and  customary 
achievement,  of  all  that  is  distinctive,  beautiful,  and  beneficent  in  the  art  of  the 
actor."     Jefferson  is  represented  here  in  three  of  his  best  known  characters — 
Rip  Van  Winkle,  Bob  Acres,  and  Dr.  Pangioss.     The  latter  part  is  intimately 
associated  with  some  of  the  foremost  names  of  the  stage.      In  America, 
William  Warren,  John  E.  Owens,  and  John  Brougham  will  never  be  for- 
gotten   in  the  jiart.     And  that  droll   comedian,  John  .S.  Clarke,   has   de- 
lighted thousands  of  playgoers,  in  England  as  well  as  in  his  own  country, 
by  his  impersonation.      Jefferson  first  played  Dr.  Pangioss   in  New  York 
so  long   ago  as  1S57,  and  it  still  remains  one  of  the  great  attractions  of 
his  repertoire.      "  The  predominant  beauty  of  Jefferson's  Dr.  Pangioss  " — 
;■  I   quote  again  from  the  critic  of  the  A'e^i'  Yor/c  'Tribuitc — "was  spon- 

taneous and  perfectly  graceful  identification  with  the  part.  The  felicity  of 
the  apt  quotations  seemed  to  be  accidental.  The  manner  was  buoyant, 
but  the  alacrity  of  the  mind  was  more  nimble  than  the  celerity  of  the  body,  and 
those  wise  and  witty  comments  that  Pangioss  makes  upon  life,  character,  and 
manners,  flowed  naturally  from  a  brain  that  was  in  the  vigor  and  repose  of  in- 
tense animation.  The  actor  was  completely  merged  in  the  character  which, 
nevertheless,  his  judgment  dominated  and  his  will  directed.  .  .  .  No  other 
actor  of  the  part  has  ever  equalled  him  in  softness  and  winning  charm  of 
humor.  His  embodiment  of  Dr.  Pangioss  has  left  in  the  memory  of  his  time  an 
image  of  eccentric  character  not  less  lovable  than  ludicrous."  There  is  no 
brighter  ornament  to  the  English-speaking  stage  than  Joseph  Jefferson.  During 
his  long  career  he  has  given  profound  pleasure  to  the  playgoers  of  America  and 
England,  and,  in  the  old  days,  to  those  of  far-off  Australia.  And,  always,  he 
has  pleased  by  his  truth  to  nature,  by  his  simplicity  of  style,  by  his  gentle  humor, 
by  his  real  pathos. 


— 32 — 


\^ISS  RL'SSELL  enjoys  a  popularity 
on  the  light  opera  stage  which  is 
unique.      She  has  acquired  her  position 
mainly  by  a  beautiful  voice  and  a  blonde 
beauty  which  appeals  to  many  people. 
She  has  also  obtained  notoriety  in  other 
ways — she  has  often  got  advertisement 
out  of  her  domestic  affairs.    Such  means 
of  obtaining   publicity  are  always  to  be 
deplored,   but  particularly,   as  in   Miss 
Russell's  case,  when  they  are  not  need- 
ed.    The  voice   of   a    singer,   together 
with  the  charm  of  her  presence  and  her 
acting,  should  be  the  attraction.      .>\nd, 
in    reality,    it    is    the    artistic    qualities 
which  draw  the  public,  not  private  con- 
cerns.     Had    Miss    Russell    been    less 
gifted,  all   the    misconceived    advertisement    in    the 
world  would  not  have  secured  her  the  prominent  posi- 
tion which  she  holds  on  the  comic  opera  stage 
of  to-day.     There  was  a  time  when  notoriety, 
secured  at  any  cost,  drew  attention  to  a  per- 
former.    Happily,    that  day   is   over.     Let  a 
player   possess    talent,    and    that    talent    will, 
sooner  or  later,  be  recognized  by  the  public.      For  the  rest, 
I  maintain  that  Miss   Russell  owes  her  celebrity  and  the  se- 
curity of  her  position  chiefly  to  her  voice,  which  is  one  of  the 
most   beautiful  that  has  ever  graced  the   comic   opera  stage. 
For  vears,  she  has  delighted  the  plavgoers  of  America  by  her 
charming  singing,  and  it  is  safe  to  predict  that  she  will  long'enjoy  public  favor.     That  she  did  not  recently  repeat  her  old 
triumphs  at  the  Casino  was  not  due  to  any  failure  of  her  power  as  a  singer  or  her  personal  attractiveness.     The  piece  in  which 
she  appeared  during  her  last  season  in  New  York  was  not  by  any  means  brilliant.     On  the  contrary,  it  was  dull,  tedious,  and 
commonplace  to  a  degree.      Oddly  enough,   also,   the  principal   part  was  by  no  means  a  good  one.      Miss  Russell  had  no 
opportunity  for  distinction  as  the  Princess  Nicotine.     But  her  marvellous  voice  repaid  the  spectator,  in  great  measure,  for  the 
uninteresting  character  which  she  portrayed.     Miss  Russell,  as  a  singer,  is  a  distinct  ornament  to  the  comic  opera  stage. 


-34- 


WILLIAM 


MacDONALD 


THE  popular  baritone  of  the  Bostonians  is  a  Westerner,  a  native 
of  Steubenville,  Ohio,  where  his  voice,  even  when  he  was  a 
child,  attracted  great  attention.  General  interest  in  him  was  in- 
creased by  his  tine  phj'sique  which  gave  foinidation  for  the  belief 
that  his  voice  would  become  a  remarkable*one  in  manhood,  and  not 
dwindle  away  to  a  silver  thread  as  physical  growth  and  develop- 
ment made  drafts  upon  his  fund  of  strength — a  promise,  which,  it 
need  hardly  be  said,  has  been  fully  realized.  Mr.  MacDonald  had 
the  good  fortune  to  belong  to  a  family  all  the  members  of  which 
were  musicians,  and,  when  he  was  old  enough  for  his  voice  to  be- 
come thoroughly  settled,  he  was  sent  abroad  to  study.  He  spent 
five  years  of  hard  work  in  England,  Germany,  and  Italy,  studying 
with  the  leading  masters  of  each  country,  and  making  the  most 
satisfactory  progress.  He  made  his  debut  in  Italy,  in  "II  Trova- 
tore. "  He  was  successful  from  the  commencement  of  his  career, 
winning  golden  opinions  in  "11  Barbiere  di  Siviglia. "  •'  Ruy  Bias.'" 
and  "  Forza  del  Destino."  .  Mr.  MacDonald  returned  to  America  in 
1880.  and  joined  the  Emma  Abbott  company,  singing  the  baritone  roles  in  all  the  operas  of  a  large  and  varied  repertoire. 
The  flexibility  of  his  voice,  combined  with  his  talent  and  versatility  as  an  actor,  have  enabled  him  to  appear  in  such  widely 
contrasted  characters  as  the  Count  in  "  La  Nozze  di  Figaro,"  Captain  de  Merrimac  in  "  Olivette,"  Peter  in  "  Czar  and  Zimmer- 
man," Pippo  in  "  La  Mascotte,"  Count  di  Luna  in  ••  II  Trovatore,"  War  Cloud  in  "  The  Olgallalas, "  and  Escamillo  in  "  Car- 
men." In  all,  he  has  sung  in  over  fifty  operas,  covering  just  as  divergent  fields  as  those  mentioned.  Mr.  MacDonald  was 
one  of  the  Boston  Ideals  when,  in  1887,  he,  in  conjunction  with  Messrs.  Karl  and  Barnabee,  launched  "The  Bostonians," 
who  have  made  such  a  marked  success,  thus  proving  that  artists  may  also  be  good  men  of  business.  Mr.  MacDonald  has 
become  a  great  favorite  as  Little  John  in  "  Robin  Hood,"  a  part  that  seems  made  for  him,  as  he  is  of  the  same  great  stature 
and  fine  physique  as  his  prototype  who,  as  our  young  brother  will  tell  us.  was  called  Little  John  because  he  was  so  big.  One 
sees  again  the  old  time  outlaw,  a  lover  of  the  greenwood  and  of  a  free  life,  brave,  adventurous,  jocular,  open-handed ;  a  pro- 
tector of  women.  And  he  makes  us  endorse  the  dictum  of  the  chronicler  who  tells  us  that  "  Lytel  John  and  Robyne  Hude. 
waythman  ware  commended  gude."  Mr.  .MacDonald's  voice  is  a  rich,  clear  baritone,  cultivated  to  the  highest  possible  degree, 
and  his  acting  is  in  keeping  with  his  singing.  It  is  delightful  to  witness  a  singer  who,  even  in  light  opera,  keeps  within  the 
picture  and  does  not  force  himself  on  the  audience. 


-36- 


ADA   REHAN. 

'THE  name  of  Ada  Rehan  is  honored  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.    The 
playgoers  of  England  and  America  are  united  as  to  the  merit  of  this 
brilliant  actress  who  has,  indeed,  met  with  more  praise  in  London  than 
that  showered  upon  her  here.     Miss  Rehan's  success  in  the  British  capital 
.:  ,  IS  a  proof,  if  proof  be  needed,  that  the  alleged  prejudice  there  against  Ameri- 

can players  does  not  exist.      She  has  received  the  enthusiastic  praise  of  the  two 
"schools"  of  critics  there,  new  and  old  alike,  who,  for  once,  join  hands  as  to 
the  exceptional  ability  of  this  clever  actress.      .Miss  Rehan,  who  has  played  over  a 
hundred  and  fifty  parts  in  the  course  of  her  career,  has  a  fund  of  buoyant  raillery 
which  covers  a  great  depth  of  feeling  which  especially  tits  her  for  the  province  of 
the  comedienne.      And  it  is  in  comedy  that  she  has  made  her  chief  hits.      As  the 
leroines  of  old  comedv,  as  the  representative  of  Vanbrugh,  Wycherley,  Cibber,  and 
Farquhar,  she  is  without  a  rival.      The  high  comedy  of  her  acting  as  Miss  Hoyden, 
''cs.?y  Thrift,  Hippolyta,  Sylvia,  and  Oriana.  has  not  been  equalled  since,  in  1S74,  she 
commenced  to  assume  characters  of  this  kind.     .Another  performance  of  rare  merit  was 
rilburnia  in  "The  Critic,"  a  part  in  which  she  displayed  the  true  instinct  and  faculty 
of  burlesque.      Her  acting,  on  the  other  hand,  of  Mademoiselle   Rose  in  "The   Prayer" 
was  remarkable  for  its  passion,  pathos,  and  a  power  that  was  almost  tragic.     The  win- 
ning sweetness  of  her  Helena  was  contrasted   by  the  vehemence  of  her  Katharine.      The 
atter  is  one  of  the  most  brilliant  of  her  impersonations  in  the  Shakespearean  field.      But 
ler  Rosalind  and  her  \'iola  have  elicited   unstinted  praise.      As  Rosalind,   "  she  was 
the  image  of  youth,  beautv,  happiness,  merriment,  and  of  an  absorbing  and  triumphant 
iove.      When  she  dashed  through   the  trees  of  Arden,  snatching  the  verses  of  Or- 
la  ido  from  their  boughs,  and  cast  herself  at  the  foot  of  a  great  elm,  to  read  those 
i       Kind  messages  that  Rosalind's  heart  instantly  and  instinctively  ascribes  to  their 
right  source,  her  gray  eyes  were  brilliant  with  tender  joy;  her  cheeks  were  flushed; 
her  whole  person,  in  its  graceful  abandonment  of  posture,  seemed  to  express  an  ecstasy 
of  happv  vitality  and  of  victorious  delight;  her  hands  that  held  the  written  scrolls 
trembled  with  eager,  tumultuous,  and  grateful  joy ;  the  voice  with  which  she  read 
••-     her  lover's  words  made  soft  cadences  of  them  and  .seemed  to  caress  every  syllable; 
and  as  the  last  rhyme, 

'  Let  no  face  be  kept  in  mind. 
But  the  fair  of  Rosalind,' 
fell  from  her  lips,  like  a  drop  of  liquid  silver,  the  exquisite  music  of  her  speech  seemed 
to  die  away  in  one  soft  sigh  of  pleasure.      While,  however,  she  thus  denoted  the 
.,    p.issionate  heart  of  Rosalind  and  her  ample  bliss  of  sensation  and  exultant  yet  ten- 
der pride  of  conquest,  she  never  once  relaxed  the  tension  of  her  glee.      In  an  ordi- 
nary representation  of  'As  You  Like  It,'  the  interest  commonly  declines  after  the  third 
act,  if  not  earlier,  from  lack  of  exuberant  physical  vitality  "and  the  propulsive 
force  of  sympathetic  mirth  in  Rosalind.      When  Ada  Rehan  played   the  part, 
the  performance  only  grew  richer  and  merrier  as  it  proceeded — developing   the 
exuberant  nature  and  glad  experience  of  a  loving  and  enchanting  woman  who  sees 
the  whole  world  suffused  with  golden  light,  irradiated  from  her  own  happy  heart, 
her  healthful  and  brilliant  mind,  her  buoyant  spirit,  and  inexhaustible  goodness  and 
Another  Shakespearean  character  in  which  Miss   Kehan  was  delightful  is  that  of  Mrs. 
I''ord  in  "The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor."     In  the  comedy  of  to-day.  she  acted  with  a  charm 
which  will  recall  with  delight  such  characters  as  Doris  in  "An   International   Match,"  Nisbe  in 
"A  Night  Off,"  A'alentine  in  "The  Railroad  of  Love,"  Jenny  O'Jones  in  "Red  Letter  Nights," 
and  others  of  that  type.      Miss  Rehan,  according  to  the  foremost  of  American  dramatic  critics,  possesses,   "like  her  great 
and  renowned  sister  in  dramatic  art,  Ellen  Terry — the  most  distinctly  poetic  actress  of  this  century,  in  any  language,  or  in  any 
land — the  power  to  personify  and  give  the  touch  of  reality.      The  yoimg  women  of  to-day  see  themselves  in  Ada   Rehan's 
jJortrayals  of  them.      The  young  men  of  to-day  recognize  in  those  portrayals  the  fulfillment  of  that  ideal  of  sensuous  senti- 
ment, piquant  freedom,  and  impetuous  ardor,  combined  with  rich  beauty  of  person  and  negligent  elegance  of  manner,  which 
they  account  the  perfection  of  womanhood."     As  an  actress  of  comedy.  Miss  Rehan  occupies  a  position  in  the  front  rank 
which  is  absolutely  unassailable. 


— :,s— 


I 

I: 


MANSFIELD. 

[  IKE    manv   other   actors    belonging   to    this 
country,    Mr.  Mansfield,  who  was  born  in 
is  an  Englishman  by  birth.     But  much  of  his  life 
has  been  passed  here,  and,  for  the  last  eleven  years, 
he  has  been  before  the  playgoing  public  of  the  United 
States.      He  may.  therefore,  be  fairly  accounted,  as  he 
claims  to  be,  an  American  actor.     His  career  has  been 
eventful,  interesting,  and   instructive.      In  his  youth, 
he   studied    for   the   Indian    Civil    Service,  but,   after 
pa.ssing  the  preliminary  e.xaminations,  he  gave  up  the 
idea,  in  order  to  remain  with   his  aged   mother,  and 
entered    into    business    in    Boston.      That,    also,   he 
abandoned,  and  set  up  as  a  painter  in  the  same  city. 
He  remained  at  that  pursuit  for  a  year  in   Boston,  and 
then  Went  to   London  for  the  purpose  of   pursumg  his  studies  as  an 
artist.     His  success  in  that  direction  did  not  warrant  him  in  continuing 
as  a  painter,  so  he  sought   employment  as  an  actor.      Here,  again,  fortune 
did  not  smile  upon  him.      But  he  was  highly  popular  in  social  circles,  and,  by  dint 
f  uritmg  for  various  publications  and  with  entertainments  which  he  gave  occasional- 
ly, he  managed  to  exist.      At  last,  in  1S77,  he  had  an  opportunity  of  appearing,  at 
.St.  Cieorge's  Hall,  in   the  German-Reed   entertainment,  in  the  temporary  absence 
of   Mr.  Corney  Grain.      His  experience   on  this  occasion  was  a  painful  one.  as, 
owing  to  the  hardships  he  had  endured,  he  was  in  so  weak  a  condition  as  to  be 
unable  to  undergo  the  nervous  strain  of  appearing  for  the  first  time  before  a  regular 
audience,  and  instead  of  the  entertainment  which  the  audience  expected,  they  heard  but 
a  few  discordant  notes  and  saw  a  pale  and  petrified  figure  led  in  silence  from  the  stage. 
After  another  year  of  fighting  for  life  in  London,  Mr.  Mansfield  secured  an  engagement  to 
tour  in  the  provinces  with  the  Gilbert-.Sullivan  operas.      He  remained  in  this  capacity  for 
three  years,  gaining  much  excellent  experience.     Returning  to  London,  he  found  work,  in 
minor  parts,  on  the  light  opera  stage.      His  acting,  and  his  careful  make-up  in  the 
small  character  of  the  innkeeper  in  "La  Mascotte  "  led  to  the  suggestion  of  a 
friend  that  he  should  return  to  America.     He  accepted  the  advice,  secured  an 
engagement  at  the  Standard  Theatre,  New  York,   and  since  that  time  he  has 
been  a  theatrical  celebrity.      He  made  an  immediate  success  as  Dromez  in  "  Les 
Manteaux  Noirs  " — his  opening  part  in  .America — and,  since  that  period,  he  has 
had  a  very  large  following  among  the  playgoing  community.      It  is  curious  to  ob- 
serve that  Mr.  .Mansfield,  who  is  justly  regarded  as  a  serious  actor,  has  played  in 
everything,  from  burlesque  to  tragedy.      The  characters  in  which  he  has  achieved 
celebrity  include   Dromez,  Nick  X'edder  in  the  comic  opera  of   "Rip  \'an  \\'inkle," 
the  Lord  Chancellor  in  "  lolanthe, "  the  (jerman  Baron  in  "  La  \'ie  Parisienne,"  Nasoni 
in  "  Gasparone,"   Baron   Kraft  in  "In  Spite  of  .All,"  Koko  in  "The  Mikado,"   Baron 
Chevrial  in   "A   Parisian   Romance,"   the  French  Tenor  in   "French  Flats,"  Dr.   Jekyll 
and  Mr.  Hyde,  Monsieur,  Prince  Karl,  Don  Juan,   Nero,    Richard  the  Third,  and  Arthur 
Dimmesdale  in  "The   Scarlet   Letter."     He  has  also  appeared  as  Shylock.      In  regard  to 
Mr.  Mansfield's  impersonation  of  Richard  the  Third,   "the  part,"  it  has  been  written,  "was 
acted  by  him;    it   was  not  declaimed.      He    made,    indeed,  a  skilfull  use    of   his  uncommon 
voice — keeping  its  tones  light,  sweet,  and  superficial  during  the  earlier  scenes,   and  then  per- 
mitting them  to  become  deeper  and  more  significant  and  thrilling  as  the  man  grows  old  in  crime 
and  haggard  and  convuised  in  self-conflict  and  misery. "     But  he  succeeded  mainly  by  his  revelation 
of  the  soul  of  the  character. 


-40- 


ADELE    RITCHIE. 

•  •  pVERY  now  and  then  there  bursts  into  the  theatrical  firmament  some 
new  light  so  startling   by  reason  of  its   unexpectedness  as  well  as 
because  of  its  brilliancy  that  the  critic  can  only  rub  his  eyes  in  a  daze  of 
admiration.     A  few  weeks  ago  I  happened  into  the  Fifth  Avenue  Theatre  on 
an  evening  when  it  was  announced  that  a  new  prima  donna,  freshly  gradu- 
ated from  the  chorus,  would  essay  the  role  of  Priscilla  in  the  comic  opera 
of   'The  Isle  of  Champagne.'     A  midsummer  audience — perhaps  the  most 
difficult  and   burnt-out  of  assemblages — had  been   laughed   into  a  frivolous 
mood  by  Mr.  Seabrooke's  bacchic  eccentricities  when  there  stepped   into  the 
scene  one  of  tiie  most  fetching  figures  that  has  graced  the  metropolitan  stage  in 
this  decade.     A  face  of  surpassing  loveliness,  joined  to  a  rare  grace  of  port,  at  once 
-Id  the  spectators  in  amazed  silence.     Then  followed  a  buzz  of  wonder  and  charm 
that  persisted  until  loud  and  clear  above  the  concerted  song  there  rang  a  soprano  so 
correct  in  its  intonation,  so  fresh  and  sweet  in  quality,  and  so  strangely  sympathetic  in 
tiinhyt\  that  the  audience  promptly  resumed  the  quiet  of  intent  attention.    The  promise 
jf  this  tentative  performance  was  more  than  fultilled  by  the  debutante's  subsequent 
rendition  of  the  solo  of  the  '  dove  song, '  and  when  the  green  baize  fell  on  the 
niyht's  entertainment,   Adele  Ritchie  had  proved  herself  an  artiste  of  the  first 
rank  and  a  stage  figure  of  extraordinary  attractiveness.      i\Ianagers  promptly 
began  squabbling — it's  a  way  managers  have — for  the  right  to  her  services, 
^      and  1  believe  an  incipient  lawsuit  was  required   to  establish  Mr.  J.  M.  Hill's 
claim  to  the  new  star's  employment.    That  indomitable  entrepreneur  was  then 
looking  about  for  '  taleiu  '  peculiiily  suitable  for  the  fitting  presentation  of  the  opera  of  '  The  Algerian,' 
by  Messrs.  Ue  Koven  and  MacDonough,  and  in  .Miss  R.itchie  Mr.  Hill  thougiit  to  discover  the  very  voice 
and  personality  necessary  to  the  role  of  Suzette  in  that  work.    The  event  has  quite  justified  the  manager's 
quick  prejudice  in  favor  of  the  young  woman's  gifts  and  allurements.      Whatever  may  be  the  defects  of 
Miss  l^itchie's  scenic  training— or,   more  probably,   the  lack  of  it — it  is  certain  that  in  merely  natural 
excellence  of  vocal  equipment  she  has  not  had  a  superior  in  the  memory  of  contemporary  theatregoers.      In  bird-like  sim- 
plicity, in  the  quality  of  limpid  ease,  it  reminds  one  much  of  the  Russell's  voice  of  ten  years  ago.      The  most  unusual  intervals 
of  composition,  the  nicest  nuances  of  light  and  shade,  appear  to  be  as  readily  at  her  command  as  though  she  were  a  mistress 
of  the  craft  of  .song  as  taught  by  a  jNIaichesi  or  a  Cappiani."     The  high  praise  thus  bestowed  on  Miss  Ritchie,  by  Mr.  Charles 
Fdc.  Nirdlinger,  in  The  Illusiraied  American,  last  September,  has  been  justified  by  subsequent  events.      Miss  Ritchie   has 
rapidly  risen  to  the  rank  of  prima  donna.      For  some  months  past  she  has  been  at  the  head  of  "The  Algerian"  company  and 
has   been   singing  the  role  originated  by  INIiss  Marie  Tempest  in  such  a  manner  as  to  win  the  praise  of  the  critics  and  the 
applause  of  the  public  in  all  the  principal  cities. 


% 


-42— 


HEXRY 

MILLER. 

MR.  Charles  Frohman  is 
to  be  congratulated  on 
his  good  fortune  in  having  a 
thoroughly  admirable  actor 
for  the  leading  man  of  his 
handsome  Empire  Theatre. 
Mr.  Henry  Miller  has  done 
much  good  work  and  has 
shown  that  he  possesses  more  than  ordinary  abil- 
ity for  his  profession.  He  has  .several  qualifications  for  the 
.stage,  chief  of  which  are  his  earnestness  and  his  quiet  power. 
ELsevvhere  in  this  volume,  1  have  dwelt  upon  the  earnestness 
necessary  for  the  actor.  To  the  old  hand,  it  may  seem 
superfluous  to  dilate  upon  the  very  foundation  of  serious, 
and,  indeed,  of  all  acting.  But  the  stage  of  to-dav,  judging 
from  many  recent  performances,  is  sadly  lacking  in  earnest- 
ness. Too  many  actors  place  themselves  on  pedestals.  Thev 
forget  their  parts  in  thinking  of  themselves.  They  play  to 
the  audience.  They  smirk  at  their  friends  in  front  and  think 
it  clever  to  force  themselves  on  their  audience.  They  forget 
that  the  business  of  acting  is  to  portray  character.  The  actor 
should  not  entirely  lose  his  identity.  He  should  retain  his 
individuality.  Personality  is  essential  to  him.  But  he  should 
always  remember  that  he  is,  for  the  time  being,  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  author,  not  of  himself.  It  is  refreshing,  in 
these  days  of  self-consciousness  and  of  self-advancement,  to 
see  an  actor  so  enveloped  in  his  work  as  Mr.  Miller.  To 
think  of  him  is  to  think,  not  merely  of  a  favorite  actor,  but 
of  certain  well-defined,  clear-cut  characters.  Call  to  mind 
th.it  delicate,  pretty  play,  "Liberty  Hall,"  as  it  was  recently 
acted  in  New  York,  and  you  instantly  remember  the  quiet, 
gentle  character  of  ^Ir.  Owen.  This  is  a  case  where  ear- 
nestness is  essential.  The  part  demands  unusual  sincerity  from  the  actor.  To 
play  it  lightly,  or  with  self-consciousness,  would  be  fatal.  Mr.  Miller  entered  into 
the  spirit  of  it,  took  it  quietly,  but  firmly,  impressively.  His  heart  was  in  his  work, 
and  his  belief  in  the  character  made  itself  felt  with  the  audience.  He  represented 
the  part,  not  himself.  And  he  could  not  have  done  this  had  he  not  been  in  earnest, 
had  he  not  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  part.  Another  valuable  quality  in  lAtr. 
Miller's  acting  made  itself  apparent  in  this  performance.  He  possesses  gentleness 
and  strength.  Too  many  actors  mistake  the  e  ;hibition  of  physical  force  for  the 
display  of  power.  There  is  invariably  a  fine  manliness  about  Mr.  Miller's  acting.  He 
plays  strongly,  vigorously.  He  does  not  paint  in  little.  But  he  never  rushes  to  e.\- 
■  tremes,  and  he  knows  the  value  of  gentleness  in  manhood.  His  Mr.  Owen  was  a 
perfect  picture  of  a  gentleman — of  a  man  who  understands  how  to  be  gentle  and 
re.spectful  with  women,  dignified  and  firm  with  men.  Another  admirable  performance  is  that  given  by  .Mr."  Miller  in 
"Sowing  the  Wind."  The  elderly,  saddened  .Mr.  Brabazon  is  not  what  is  considered  in  the  line  of  business  for  a  "juvenile  " 
leading  man,  but  Mr.  Miller  plays  it  delightfully.  He  does  not  disdain  to  wear  a  white  wig  and  line  his  face.  He  has  the 
humor  for  the  lighter  passages  of  the  first  act,  and  ihe  pathos  and  the  power  for  the  later  scenes. 


\ 


\ 


-4+- 


-> 


NELLIE    MELBA. 

M  AUAME  MELRA  was  born 
in  ^Melbourne,  Australia,  in 
1865,    of    Scotch    descent,    her 
parents   being  wealthy   Presby- 
terians.    As   a   young   girl,   she 
sang  only  in  charity  concerts.    At  the  age 
of  eighteen,   she   was   married   to   Captain 
.Armstrong,  and,  shortly  after  that  event,  she 
left  the  Antipodes  for  Paris,  with  the  intention 
of  residing  permanently  in  the  French  capital. 
In    Paris,    she   met    the    celebrated    impresario. 
--''  .Maurice  Strakosch,  who,  struck  by  the  beautiful 

quality  of  her  voice,    prevailed  on    her  to  study 
seriously  with  a  view  to  a  public  career.    She  wisely 
accepted  this  advice,  and,  in  1886.  commenced  her  mu- 
sical   studies   under    Madame    Marches!.     Nine   months 
later,  the  young  artist  made  her  debut  at  the  Theatre  de  la 
Monnaie,  Brussels,  as  Gilda  in  ■•  Kigoletto. "     She  was  im- 
mediately hailed  by  the  press  and  the  public  as  the  successor 
of  Patti  and  Nilsson.      In  the  spring  of  1888,  Madame  Melba 
made  her  first  appearance  in  London,  at  Covent  Garden,  and 
^^^^  imniediately  secured  a  triumph.      Since  that  time,  her  career 

M^  ^^^^R  y        I        has  been  one  unbroken  record  of  complete  artistic  and  popular 
■'^^K^M  I      '  success.     Her  name  alone  is  sufficient  to  draw  a  crowded  house 

_  .^BHBI^'  in  New  York  as  well  as  in  any  of  the  European  capitals.      The 

seal  of   her  success  was  set  by  her  appearance  as  Ophelia  in 
"  Hamlet."  at  the  Opera  House.  Paris,  in  1889.      Her  reputation 
as  the  Queen  of  Song  was  enhanced,  in  the  following  year,  at  the 
Scala,  Milan.      Before  leaving  Europe  for  her  recent  engagement  at 
the  New  York  Metropolitan  Opera  House,  with  Messrs.  .Abbey,  Schoeffel, 
and  Grau,  Madame  Melba  made  a  tour  of  Holland  and  Scandinavia,  under 
the  management  of  Mr.  Carl  Ferdinand  Strakosch,  with  a  result  that  had 
never  been  equalled  in  those  countries,  either  artistically  or  financially.      As 
a  songstress,    pure  and  simple,   Madame  Melba  must  be  regarded  as  the 
leading  prima  donna  of  the  day.    The  only  arti.st  that  once  outshone  her — 
reference  is.  of  course,  made  to  Madame  Patti — is  now  but  a  shadow  of 
her  former  self.  and.  among  contemporary  performers,  the  Australian 
dn>a  has  no  rival.      .Madame  Melba's  voice  is  a  high  soprano,  of  great 
range,  and  brilliant,  rather  than  sympathetic ;  of  admirable  timhyc.  ab- 
■  ,-       solutely  true,  and  exceedingly  flexible,  a  perfect  instrument,  in  other  words, 
''      and  one  which  Nature,  helped  by  study,  enables  the  possessor  to  use  to 
the  best  advantage.      No  more  beautiful  organ  has  been  heard  for  years,  and 
Madame  Melba  uses  it  with  a  facility  and  surety  that  even  the  incomparable 
Patti  of  the  past  did  not  excel.     A  voice  and  talent  of  this  order  naturally  find 
their  best  medium  of  revelation  in  what  may  be  clumsily  but  clearly  described 
as  lyric  opera,  namely,  opera  in  which  cantahile  and  highly  embellished  themes 
are  most  abundant,  and  it  is  in  works  of  this  type  that  Madame  Melba  is  hap- 
piest.     Thus  it  comes  that  in  •'  Lucia  di  Lammermoor  "  and  "  Rigoletto,"  for 
example,  the  Australian  prima  donna  is  at  her  best,  while  her  opportunities 
are  scarcely  so  great  in  more  modern  achievements  in  which  song  is  made  the 
vehicle  of  e.xpression.  rather  than  the  sole  end  of  the  composer's  art.      To  the 
dilettante,  sensitive  to  the  loveliness  and  splendor  of  tone,  to  the  connoisseur, 
ve  to  the  charm  of  vocal  emission  so  unforced  and  correct  that  one  of  the  artist's 
associates  has  justly  described  it  as  an  aiiissi'on  insolentc,  Madame  Melba's  performances 
give  the  largest  measure  of  delight  and  satisfaction. 

-46- 


HILE  Madame  Bern- 
hardt was  conquer- 
ing the  new  world, 
there  arose  in   Paris  a  the- 
atrical star  named  Jane 
Hadmg    whose    briijht 
light  for  a  time  threat- 
ened  to   dull    the   bril- 
liancy of  the    divine 
,^-^^  Sarah.     Bernhardt  returned  home  only 

''%^*'  to  receive  the  cold  shoulder  from  the 
chauvinistic  critics  who  could  not  forgive 
her  for  having  dared  to  desert  the  art 

centre  of  the  universe  in  order  to  gather  dollars  from  rc.f  hur/xires 

Amhkaiiis.      They  said  that  in  playing  to  such   Philistines  as  we 

were,  her  acting  had   become  exaggerated ;  some  even  suggested 

that  her  light  was  waning  and  that  she  must  make  way  for  the 

new  planet.    To  add  to  Sarah's  discomfiture  she  found  her  handsome 

Greek  husband  was  not  only  sharing  with  Madame  Hading  the  ap- 

.^-2,     plause  of  the  public  in    "  Le   Maitre  de  Forges,"  but  that  he  had 

—  ^?^r  actuallv  become  the  devoted  admirer  of  the  new  star.     Sarah  bided  her 

S.' A  ■  time.      Her  Damala  returned  to  her  and  before  long  the  Paris  critics  were 

'•^  damning  Jane  Hading  and  lauding  Bernhardt  to  the  skies  again, 

Jane  Hading  is  a  very  beautiful  woman ;  the  timbre  of  her  voice  is  e.\- 
quisite;  the  purity  of  her  enunciation  cannot  be  excelled ;  a  delightful  radi- 
ancy appears  to  pervade  her  presence ;  there  is  a  youthful  dignity  in  her 
every  movement.     Never  brusque  in  her  passionate  moments,  never  savagely 
^     intense,  she  never  surprises  you  nor  awes  you  any  more  than  a  well-bred 
''     woman  of  the  world  would  were  she  to  experience  a  tragic  emotion  in  real 
life.      She  is  immensely  clever;  but  she  is  not  a  great  genius. 
A  Marseillaise  by  birth,  her  real  name  is  Jeanne   Hadingue.      She  was  born  in 
r'»         ,.    j  :    ^HHr".   '"     ■     the  dramatic  profession.      After  making  a  hit  in  operetta  in  Cairo,  she  returned 

iMBKa  Stess     ••'.-^j  to  her  native  town  and  there  her  youth  and  good  looks  made  her  a 

^^^^^H  '^  ^  popular  favorite.      About   fifteen  years  ago  she  made  her  Paris  debut 

B^^^H  I  "1^         (f^^       ^^  ''^^  Palais  Royal  in  "  La  Chaste  Suzanne,"  but  she  did  not  suit  the 

^3^^^^^  ^-  /V*^       'S'^il^     critical  Paris  public.      Her  voice  was  small  and  she  was  too  refined  for 

opera  bouffe.  The  little  singing  voice  she  had  entirely  left  her  when 
she  was  eighteen  years  old  and  she  took  to  comedy.  Then  she  married 
\'ictor  Koning,  a  well-known  Parisian  theatrical  manager.  He  cast 
her  for  the  part  of  Claire  in  "  Le  Maitre  de  Forges,"  much  to  the  dis- 
gust of  Georges  Ohnet,  the  author.  Koning's  faith  in  his  young  wife's 
Claire  took  Paris  by  storm.  Every  other  Claire  that  we  have  ever  seen  has  appeared  fiaur- 
.Madame  Hading  and  Coquelin  ni/n'  joined  forces  and  after  visiting  South  America  came  to 
this  country.  She  returned  to  Paris  and  then  for  two  years  retired  from  the  stage.  The  tragedy  of  lier  life  had  begun.  Damala 
had  gone  back  to  his  wife.  Soon  after  it  was  found  necessary  to  place  him  in  a  lunatic  asylum  and  there  he  died.  Madame  Hading 
made  no  attempt  to  conceal  her  grief.  When  she  reappeared  on  the  Parisian  stage  in  January,  1891,  in  "La  Contesse  Romani " — 
an  old  piece  revived — she  proved  a  bitter  disappointment  to  her  friends.  She  appeared  to  have  become  soured  with  life.  Her 
charming  simplicity  of  manner  had  gone.  The  tones  of  her  voice  had  become  harsh  and  she  had  adopted  the  style  of  a  tragedy 
queen.  But  time  heals  all  and  when  Madame  Hading  returned  to  us  during  the  season  of  1S93-94  she  was  once  more  her  charming 
self;  again  the  great  artist  who  could  transfuse  her  perfect  technique  with  deep  feeling;  still  the  beautiful  woman,  though  somewhat 
matured,  who  had  fascinated  us  five  years  before. 


talents  proved  to  be  well  founded, 
geoise  by  the  side  of  Jane  Hading's, 


Her 


—4— 


(I'r<ini  a  phiMoKraph  l>)    Thora,  Sun  rranciaci),  C«l.) 


CANNOT  make  up  my  mind  where  to  place  Mr.  E.  S.  Willard 
in  the  Gallery  ok  Plavers — among  the  greatest  or  only  on 
the  second  line.  I  could  not  agree  with  a  well-known  dramatic 
critic  one  night  that  Willard  and  Kyrle  Bellew  were  about  on  a  par,  and  yet  I 
vould  hardly  venture  to  rank  him  with  Edwin  Booth  as  he  was  ten  years  ago, 
ith  Jefferson,  Barnay  or  Irving.  He  is,  however,  comparatively  young,  for  he 
was  born  in  1853,  and  therefore  may  become  as  great  as  they.  But  will  he 
ever  reach  the  top  of  the  ladder  ?  Oun'n  sa/v  f  Meanwhile  let  us  give  him  a 
place  by  himself  between  the  Dfos  majort-s  and  the  iniiwres.  If  we  have  seen 
greater  actors,  I  doubt  whether  we  have  seen  a  more  original  one.  He  is  no 
adventurer  who  has  adopted  the  stage  for  mere  money-making.  His  instincts 
are  too  fine  and  artistic  for  that.  He  is  not  satisfied  to  play  one  character 
especially  adapted  to  him.  but  gives  his  audiences  many,  each  one  un- 
like any  other  and  all  unlike  E.  S.  Willard.  When  he  first  appeared 
in  this  country  at  Palmer's  Theatre,  New  York,  on  November  10.  1890, 
his  name  was  scarcely  known  to  American  theatre-goers,  so  modestly 
had  he  made  his  arrival  here.  But  the  rumor  had  reached  a  few  that 
Mr.  Willard  had  made  a  great  impression  in  artistic  London  by  his 
performance  of  the  part  of  Cyrus  Blenkhorn  m  Henry  Arthur  Jones's 
powerful  play.  "The  Middleman,"  and  the  ne.xt  morning  Willard's 
name  was  on  everyone's  lips.  He  had  astonished  his  audience  as  much 
as  he  had  pleased  them  by  his  simple  and  sterling  worth.  He  had  in- 
troduced to  it  an  entirely  new  character  played  in  an  entirely  new 
manner,  utterly  free  from  the  traditions  of  the  old  school ;  as  sincere  as 
it  was  simple.  How  conscientious  was  his  work  may  be  illustrated  by  the  fact 
that  he  lived  for  some  weeks  before  he  created  the  part  among  the  potters  of 
Stoke-upon-Trent,  and  so  truthfully  did  he  play  the  part  that  the  Pottt-ry  Gazette 
said  of  his  performance  that  it  appeared  as  if  "some  excitable  and  clever  potter 
had  become  an  actor — not  that  an  actor  had,  for  this  piece  only,  become  a  potter." 
A  month  later  Mr.  Willard  showed  us  by  his  performance  of  Judah  Llewellyn 
that  he  was  no  one-part  actor,  for  no  two  characters  could  be  much  more  dis- 
similar as  sketched  by  Mr.  Jones,  as  filled  in  by  Mr.  Willard,  than  the  honest 
old  English  potter  and  the  perjured  young  Welsh  clergyman.  Powerful  "Judah"  is.  but 
tliere  is  an  unpleasant  color  about  it.  Mr.  Willard,  however,  never  for  one  moment  lo.ses 
the  sympathy  of  his  audience.  Later  he  produced  "John  Needham's  Double,"  and  agam 
made  a  profound  impression  by  his  trenchant  portrayal  of  intellectual  power  slowly  sapped 
and  disintegrated  by  the  corrosive  consciousness  of  hideous  duplicity  and  wickedness.  On 
December  19,  1892,  Mr.  Willard  produced  J.  M.  Barrie's  delightful  "Professor's  Love 
Story  "  at  the  Star  Theatre,  New  York.  The  piece  is  a  mere  literary  sketch,  and  we  know  of  no  actor  in  this  country  who  could 
have  made  of  Professor  Goodwillie  what  Mr.  Willard  did.  Indeed,  I  consider  that  he  and  not  Mr.  Barrie  nor  Mrs.  Inchbald,  from 
whom  Barrie  took  the  idea  of  the  piece,  is  responsible  for  that  charming  professor  of  electricity,  who  doesn't  know  when  he  is  in  love. 
In  the  winter  of  1893  Mr.  Willard  appeared  for  the  first  time  on  any  stage  as  Hamlet.  The  performance  did  not  add  to  his  reputa- 
tion as  an  actor.     Indeed,  I  under.stand — for  I  did  not  see  the  performance — that  as  Hamlet  he  was  a  positive  failure. 

Mr.  Willard  was  born  in  Brighton,  England.  He  went  on  the  stage  much  against  the  wish  of  his  family,  who  had  a  horror  of 
actor  folk.  His  first  engagement  was  at  the  Theatre  Royal,  Weymouth,  and  there  he  had  the  good  luck  to  make  the  acquaintance 
of  the  late  E.  A.  Sothern,  who,  as  Mr.  Willard  will  tell  you,  "was  thenceforward  the  forwarder  of  my  interests."  Mr.  Willard  once 
played  the  part  of  Judah  Llewellyn  before  seven  hundred  parsons  in  London. 


'CCENTRIC  and  erratic 
are  the  two  words  usu- 
ly  used  to  describe 
tliat  charming  little  beauty  of  the  footlights.  Miss  Sadie  Martinot ;  but  the  world 
she  says  does  not  know  her  true  character.  "  I  trip  and  dance  and  sing  and  wear 
short  skirts  and  sing  f'rench  songs."  she  once  confided  to  an  interviewer,  "and 
they  think  I  am  nothing  more  than  a  frivolous  and  thoughtless  creature  of  the  stage. 
I  want  to  be  known  as  a  woman  and  not  as  an  actress.  .  .  .  F"rom  the  age  of 
eight  to  twelve,  I  was  the  inmate  of  a  convent.  The  religious  principles  instilled  in 
me  as  a  child  have  never  left  me  during  all  my  years  on  the  stage.  I  never  start  to 
make  my  entrance  in  the  first  scene  of  a  new  play  without  crossing  myself  and  mur- 
muring a  prayer."  This  religious  reverence,  she  added,  had  colored  her  whole  life. 
\,  Such  being  the  case,  one  cannot  but  wish  that  other  actresses  would  hie  themselves 
,  lo  a  nunnery.  Miss  .Martinot  has  tried  her  hand  at  almost  everything  on  the 
stage.  She  has  played  in  burlesque,  comic  opera  and  opera  comique;  in  farce 
■  as  well  as  in  pure  comedy,  and  in  each  she  has  done  extraordinarily  well.  How 
much  better  she  might  have  done  had  she  selected  her  victicr  and  stuck  to  it, 
w^e  can  only  surmise.  Long  Island  claims  Miss  Martinot  as  its  daughter,  but 
she  was  quite  a  little  child  when  her  parents  took  her  to  New  York  city  and 
pitched  their  tent  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Eagle  (now  the  Standard)  Theatre. 
It  was  at  that  theatre  she  made  her  first  appearance  as  the  member  of  the  chorus 
in  a  burlesque  called  "Cupid."  This  was  in  1876.  For  a  season  she  joined  a 
travelling  burlesque  company,  but  it  went  to  pieces  at  Philadelphia,  and  for  a 
short  time  she  played  in  an  obscure  theatre  in  lioston.  There  she  attracted  so 
much  attention  that  she  was  asked  to  join  the  stock  company  of  the  Boston 
Museum,  which  was  no  small  compliment  for  so  young  and  ine.xperienced  an 
actress.  The  charming  way  in  which  she  and  "jack"  Mason  played  their  love 
scenes  became  the  talk  of  the  town,  and  for  four  seasons  Miss  Martinot  was  the 
reigning  stage  favorite  at  the  Hub.  Dion  Boucicault  saw  her  play  and  advised 
her  to  try  her  fortune  in  London.  There  she  made  a  great  hit  as  Lady  Angela 
in  "  Patience  "  at  the  Savoy  Theatre.  She  returned  to  this  country  to  play  the 
leading  parts  in  Boucicault's  plays  and  was  the  most  fascinating  of  Moyas  in 
"The  -Shaughraun."  But  tiring  of  the  Irish  drama  she  suddenly  threw  up  her 
engagement  and  in  1S84  kept  Xew  York  in  fits  of  laughter  over  her  imitations 
of  Ellen  Terry,  .A.imee,  etc.,  in  a  farce  called  "Distinguished  Foreigners,"  which 
was  played  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Theatre.  As  Florence  Nightingale  Fletcher  in 
"Oueena."  she  made  a  still  bigger  hit  at  the  LInion  Square  Theatre,  and  when 
she  played  Sophie  m  "  Dakolar  "  the  women  went  into  raptures  over  her  e.xquisite 
dresses.  But  greater  than  all  these  was  the  success  she  made  at  the  Casino  in 
the  title  role  of  "Nanon,"  which  had  a  prolonged  run.  At  its  close  Miss  Marti- 
not took  a  trip  to  Europe  in  order  to  cultivate  her  voice,  but  was  struck  down  by 
fever  at  Florence  and  it  took  her  some  months  to  throw  off  its  effects.  ^Vhen 
she  did  come  back  to  this  country  to  create  the  titie  role  in  Chassaigne's  "Nadjy"  at  the  Casino,  her  admirers  found  her  as  bonnie 
and  charming  as  ever;  but  a  quarrel  with  the  stage  manager  caused  her  to  sever  her  connection  with  the  Aronsons.  She  then  ap- 
peared— this  was  in  1889— at  Amberg's  Theatre,  and  in  the  part  of  Bettina  in  "La  Mascotte,"  which  she  sang  in  German,  she 
achieved  another  great  success.  On  the  opening  of  the  Garden  Theatre,  New  York,  Miss  Martinot  appeared  m  "br.  15111  ";  then  in 
1 89 1  appeared  as  the  witty  Marquise  in  Mr.  C.  F.  Nirdlinger's  "Pompadour."  In  1893  she  played  Dora  in  "Diplomacy"  with  the 
Coghlans.  Since  then  she  has  sold  her  jewels  and  bric-a-brac  and  become  Mrs.  Max  Figman.'  Her  first  matrimonial'  essay  was 
made  in  collaboration  with  Mr,  Fred.  Stinson  when  she  was  playing  in  Boston.  It  does  not  appear  to  have  had  more  than  a  succes 
dc  curiosite. 


(Krnm  n  pluitojiraph  by  Siir<my,  New  Ynrk.i 


SEABROOKE. 


(")    one   was    more    surprised    than    Thomas 
Ouigley  Seabrooke  when  he  discovered  that 
nature  had  intended   him  for  a  low  come- 
dian.   The  discovery  came  about  in  this  way.    He 
had  been  engai^ed   l)y   Mr.  George  Holland  to  play  the 
leading  parts  in  his  light  comedies.      After  a  time  Mr.  Hol- 
^        land  decided  to  revive  his  old  success,  "Ten   Nights  in 
— "    a  Barroom,"  and  cast  .Mr.  Seabrooke  for  the  comic  role. 
This  did  not  at  all  please  the  young  actor  who,  accus- 
tomed as  he  liad  lalely  been  to  performing  leading  juvenile 
parts,  had  aspirations  of  a  higher  order.      He  protested,  but  at 
length  the  idea  of  his  playing  low  comedy  struck  him  as  so  ludicrous 
that  he  consented  to  descend   from  his  high  horse.      He  played  the  part 
and  made  a  great  hit.      But  before  this  hit  came,  Mr.  Seabrooke  had  had  to 
hght  many  a  hard  struggle  in  order  to  gain  recognition  and  his  dramatic  life 
was  as  full  of  vicissitudes  as  that  of  almost  every  successful  actor  is.      He  was 
born  at  Mount  Vernon,  Westchester  County,  N.  Y.,  a  httle  over  thirty-four  years 
ago.      At  the  public  schools  there  he  learned  the  three  R's  and  when  he  was  only 
eleven  years  old  he  became  an  ofhce  boy  in  the  East  Chester  National  Bank,  where  it 
w.is  intended  he  should  serve  an  apprenticeship  of  three  years  and  then  study  for  the  law. 
But  if  man  proposes,  God  disposes.     He  did  not  go  in  for  law,  but  remained  in  the  bank 
until  he  was  twenty,  when  he  found  that  too  close  confinement  and  overwork  were  beginning  to  tell 
nil  his  health.    Then  he  bethought  himself  of  the  stage  as  a  means  of  gaining  a  livelihood.      He  had 
saved  a  little  money  and  he  devoted  it  to  assist  a  friend  in  putting  on  a  company  at  a  Newark  (N.  J.) 
theatre,  he  being  engaged  to  play  Bertie  Cecil  in  "Cigarette."     But  the  citizens  of  Newark  failed 
to  respond  and  in  a  very  short  time  the  company  was  disbanded  and  young  Seabrooke's  savings  had 
vanished  into  thin  air.      However,  he  soon  got  another  engagement  with  Helen  Coleman  to  double 
the  parts  of  Tom  Crane  and  Jeff  McGuire  in  "  The  Widow'  Bedott."     Then  he  found  himself  playing 
the  detective  in  "  Rooms  to  Rent";  acted  for  a  short  time  in   Halifax,  N.  S.,  and  in  the  fall  of  1882 
,.        ^  was  engaged  by  "  Will  "  Carleton  to  create  the  part  of  John  Mandamus  in  "  Irish  Aristocracy."     It 

'     ,..   f.  was  in  this  character  that  he  made  his  first  bow  to  a  New  York  audience,  at  the  Academy  of  Music, 

'■',  in  November,  1882.      The  following  season  he  was  playing  for  a  time  in  "One  of  the  Finest"  and  then 

lie  joined  Jeffrey  Lewis's  company  as  leading  man  and  opened  his  engagement  as  Tom  Coatridge  in  "  The 
Ruling  Passion."      He  afterwards  became  a  member  of  Woods'  stock  company  at  Forepaugh's  in  Phila- 
delphia, or,  as  it  was  then  called,  the  Bijou  Theatre.      At  the  Girard  Avenue  Theatre  in  the  same  city  he 
'«-*3'  played,  in  "  97-79  "  under  Mr.  Adolph   Neuendorff's  management;  then  with  "Mrs.  Partington  "  in  Boston 

and  Providence  and  subsequently  with  Barney  McAuley  in  "The  Jersey  Man."     He  left  Mr.  McAuley  to  join 
Mr.  Holland's  forces  and.  as  already  stated,  it  was  under  this  management  that  he  discovered  what  his  true 
mclier  was.     After  this  his  career  on  the  stage  was  a  comparatively  comfortable  one,  but  he  had  had  many  a 
hard  struggle  before  it  became  so.      In  the  spring  of  1885  he  played  the  Earl  of  Esmond  in  "  Favette, "  with   Miss 
Estelle  Clayton,  at  the  Union  Square  Theatre,  New  York,  and  afterwards  went  on  the  road  with  "The  Danites,"  "'49,"  "After 
Dark"  and  "Her  Atonement."     In  a  farce-comedy  called  "Aphrodite"  he  made  another  decided  hit  and  was  then  engaged  by  Mr. 
Samuel  Colville  to  play  Moses  Jewel  in  "The  World,"  at  the  People's  Theatre,  New  York.     Later  he  created  Oleo  Mashering  in 
George  Hoey's  "  Keep  It  Dark  "  and  then  appeared  at  the  .Standard  Theatre  as  Gentlemanly  Jimmy  in  Gunther's  play,  "A  Wall  Street 
Bandit."     For  a  short  period  he  appeared  at  Sinn's  Park  Theatre,  Brooklyn,  in  "A  Paper  Doll."  "  The  Little  Tycoon  "  and  "A  Mid- 
night Bell."     In  the  summer  of  1892  he  produced  "The  Isle  of  Champagne,"  and  his  King  Poniniery  found  immense  favor  with  the 
public.      His  next  production,  "Tabasco,"  was  not  such  a  success. 

Mr.  Seabrooke's  performance  of  the  part  of  King  Pommery  became  the  talk  of  the  town  and  owing  to  it  "  The  Isle  of  Champagne  " 
continued  to  draw  crowded  houses  even  during  the  early  part  of  the  dog  days.  But  at  length  the  heat  became  so  intense  that  actors 
and  audience  had  to  resign  themselves  to  fate  and  the  piece  was  withdrawn.  When  it  was  revived  it  was  received  with  equal  favor 
and  it  raised  Mr.  Seabrooke  not  only  to  a  high  position  in  his  profession,  but  also  added  considerably  to  his  bank  account.  The  rumor 
that  "  Tabasco"  was  backed  by  the  company  intere.sted  in  making  a  sauce  of  that  name  did  not  add  to  the  actor's  dramatic  reputa- 
tion.    .Mr.  Seabrooke,  whose  original  name  was  Quigley,  recently  adopted  his  present  name  by  legal  methods. 


HE  was  a  remarkably  pretty 
it  tie  girl.      During  her 
babyhood  she  had  exhibited  no 
particular    dramatic     passion     except 
when  she  found  the  sugar  basin  beyond  her  reach.      In  her  bread  and  butter 
days  she  hati  learned  to  spout  harmless  poems  of  the  "  Mary  Had  a  Little 
Lamb  "  order  for  the  edirtcation  of  persons  with  a  tendency  to  drift  into 
church  sociables.      Before  she  had  reached   her  teens  she  had  played 
with  the   Gilbert  Dramatic  Society  of  Rochester,  N.  Y..  the  part  of 
i,         Maggie  McFarlane  in  "Engaged."     Later  she  had  developed  a  long- 
ing to  become  an  actress.      Her  father  and  mother  had  said   "No." 
1  hen  had  come  along  a  friend  who  obtained  the  parental  permis- 
sion to  take  her  to  New  York  so  that  she  might  have  a  few  lessons 
in   the  dramatic  art.     A   rumor  reached   her  that   Miss   Helen 
Barry  was  in  searcn  of  a  leading  lady.     She — that  is  to  say 
',  Miss  Amy  Busby — had  then  reached  the  age  of  fifteen.     In 

^r  ,        spite  of  the   fact  that   she  wore  short  dresses  and  her  hair 
'      "       hanging  down  her  back,  she  aspired  to  occupy  that  vacant 
position  of  leading  lady.      By  means  of  some  strategy  and 
just  the  tiniest  bit  of  "fibbing,"  she  succeeded.      She  put 
up  her  hair,  borrowed  a  long  dress,  a  black  velvet  bon- 
net, and    offered   her  services   to   the  English    actress. 
•^^-«-_  '•'  When  asked  her  age  Miss  Busby  said  it  was  nineteen. 

;•?;;*  ■  Most  girls   like   to  be  thought  older  than  they  are  till  they 

reach  twenty.  Then,  for  a  year  or  two,  young  women  tell  the  truth 
about  their  age.  F"or  a  few  more  years  those  ages  remain  stationary. 
After  that  they  grow  downwards  like  a  cow's  tail.  Miss  Busby's  "fib" 
therefore  to  a  certain  extent  pardonable.  And  then  it  was  such  a  little  one. 
II.  she  was  engaged  and  duly  attended  rehearsals  in  nineteen-year-old  "get- 
When  Miss  Busby  joined  the  company  on  its  way  to  Albany,  Miss  Barry 
as  rather  startled  to  see  her  new  protegee  in  "shorts"  and  with  her  hair 
down  her  back.  The  cat  had  to  be  let  out  of  the  bag;  all  that  was  left  for 
Miss  Busby's  kind-hearted  employer  was  to  laugh  and  grant  plenary  abso- 
lution. Thus  the  subject  of  this  sketch  made  her  first  public  appearance 
in  the  first  long  dress  she  had  ever  owned,  at  the  capital  of  New  York 
State,  as  Grace  Harkaway  in  "London  .Assurance."  Then  she  played 
\iola  in  Henry  Guy  Carleton's  "Victor  Durand."  and  before  she  left 
Miss  Barry's  company  had  quite  a  nice  little  repertoire.  When  Miss 
Cora  Edsell  started  out  as  a  star  in  "The  Pembertons  "  Miss  Busby 
acted  the  second  woman's  part.  The  star  shone  for  a  brief  month 
only,  then  its  light  faded  out  and  Miss  Busby  was  engaged  by  Stuart 
Robson,  with  whom  she  remained  for  two  years.  During  her  first 
season  with  him  she  played  Lady  Mary  in  "The  Henrietta,"  Con- 
stance Neville  in  "  .She  .Stoops  to  Conc|uer  "  aiul  ISIaiiche  in  "  Is  Marriage  a  Failure  ?"  In  the  second  season  she  took  the  place  of 
Mrs.  Robson,  who  was  ill,  and  played  Kate  Hardcastle  and  Mrs.  Van  Alstyne  in  "The  Henrietta."  Then  came  an  engagement 
with  W.  H.  Crane,  and  under  his  management  she  took  the  parts  of  Margaret  in  Paul  Potter's  "The  American  Minister,"  Mary 
Marlowe  in  "On  Probation."  Helen  in  "  Brother  John."  the  hysterical  young  woman  in  "  For  Money  "  and  Mrs.  .Vrmstrong  in  "  The 
Senator."  Then  she  joined  Richard  .Mansfield's  company  and  was  the  first  in  this  country  to  play  the  part  of  Louka  in  that  brilliant 
but  unappreciated  satire  on  human  nature,  "  .Vrnis  and  the  Man."  Miss  Busby  is  now  a  member  of  .Mr.  Charles  Frohman's  stock 
company. 


-<«> 


^^. 


4 


&. 


•c. 


•If—.-. 


/ 


SJPALKo 


(Iri.in  H  ptwili.,  ("pyriKlu  1894  by  11    .1.  lull*.  Ni"  '>"'^-' 


JAMES    H.    STODDARD. 

HAD  any  young  actor  of  the  present  day  made  the  great  hit  that  James  H.  Stoddard  did  as  Moneypenny  in  "  The  Long  Strike," 
about  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago,  he  would  doubtless  have  at  once  taken  to  starring.  But  autres  jours  autres  macurs.  For 
more  than  twenty  years,  with  the  exception  of  two  seasons,  Mr.  Stoddard  has  been  contented  to  remain  a  member  of  Mr.  .A. 
M.  Palmer's  stock  companies,  which  speaks  volumes  both  for  the  actor  and  manager.  Mr.  Stoddard  comes  of  theatrical  stock.  His 
father  acted  for  twenty-two  years  at  the  Theatre  Royal,  Glasgow,  and  he  was  born  on  October  26,  1826,  while  his  parents  were 
playing  an  engagement  in  Yorkshire,  England.  He  received  his  education  in  Glasgow,  and  his  father  having  become  manager  of 
the  Theatre  Royal,  young  Stoddard  there  made  his  first  bow  to  the  public  in  the  part  of  a  page.  When  he  was  seventeen  years  old 
he  got  an  engagement  at  Aberdeen  and  then  drifted  to  Liverpool,  where  for  five  years  he  played  principally  old  men's  parts  on  a  very 
meagre  salary.  In  those  days  we  depended  almost  entirely  on  England  for  our  actors  and  actresses,  and  the  success  that  some  of 
them  had  met  with  in  the  United  States  caused  Mr.  Stoddard  to  pack  up  his  trnnks  and  come  to  this  country.  He  arrived  in  Neiv 
York  in  1853  armed  with  a  letter  to  the  elder  Wallack,  whose  theatre  stood  at  the  corner  of  Broadway  and  Broome  street.  He  had 
hoped  to  strike  an  El  Dorado  at  once  but  found  he  had  to  begin  again  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder.  Mr.  James  Wallack  gave  him 
only  minor  parts  to  play.  In  the  company  were  Mrs.  John  Hoey  (then  Mrs.  Russell)  and  Miss  Conover,  vi-ho  was  the  "singing 
lady"  of  the  troupe.  Many  years  later  Miss  Conover  became  Mr.  Stoddard's  wife.  After  spending  four  years  under  the  Wallack 
management  Mr.  Stoddard  accepted  an  engagement  from  Laura  Keene,  who  opened  her  new  theatre  on  Broadway,  between 
Houston  and  Bleecker  streets,  with  "As  You  Like  It."  In  this  play  .Mr.  Stoddard  took  the  role  of  Adam,  which  tradition  has  it 
was  created  by  the  "divine  William"  himself.  During  this  engagement  Joseph  Jefferson  made  his  first  appearance  in  New  York  as 
Dr.  Pangloss  in  "The  Heir  at  Law"  and  as  Diggery  in  "The  Spectre  Bridegroom."  In  the  first  play  Vlx.  Stoddard  appeared  as 
Steadfast  and  in  the  latter  as  Nicodemus.  He  remained  with  Laura  Keene  until  she  resigned  the  management  of  the  theatre  which 
then  became  known  as  the  Olympic.  When  the  late  Dion  Boucicault  appeared  at  the  Wmter  Garden,  which  stood  on  part  of  the 
ground  now  occupied  by  the  Grand  Central  Hotel,  in  "Dot,"  Mr.  Stoddard  supported  him  for  the  first  part  of  the  season  and  then 
played  with  "Joe  "  Jefferson  for  the  remainder  at  the  same  theatre.  For  the  following  five  seasons  he  was  at  the  Olympic  under  the 
management  of  Mrs.  John  Wood,  the  original  Pocahontas,  who  is  still  delighting  London  audiences  in  spite  of  her  years.  It  was 
during  this  engagement  that  Mr.  Stoddard  made  his  first  great  hit  in  "  The  Long  Strike."  Hitherto  the  public  had  appreciated  him 
as  a  good  and  useful  member  of  a  stock  company.  Now  they  realized  what  a  consummate  actor  he  was.  He  was  induced  in  1873 
to  join  forces  with  a  company  formed  to  play  "The  Long  Strike"  on  the  road,  but  it  was  a  year  of  financial  disaster  in  this  country. 
The  combination  proved  a  failure  and  .Mr.  Stoddard,  having  had  enough  of  one-night  stands,  joined  the  stock  company  at  the  Union 
Square  Theatre,  and  with  the  exception  of  two  seasons  when  Mr.  Palmer  was  abroad,  has  remained  with  that  manager  ever  since. 
The  Union  Square  company  was  in  these  days  as  strong  a  company  as  we  have  ever  had  in  this  country,  and  Mr.  Stoddard  fully 
shared  in  its  triumphs,  one  of  his  greatest  successes  being  in  the  part  of  Jacob  Rantzau.  When  "Alabama"  was  produced  at  the 
Madison  Square  Theatre  in  iSgt  he  played  with  rare  skill  Colonel  Preston,  the  old  Southern  planter  with  strong  prejudices  against 
the  North.  He  continues  to  be  a  valued  member  of  .Mr.  Palmer's  company,  but  whenever  he  can  escape  from  the  footlights  he 
hurries  to  indulge  in  bucolic  dissipation  at  Rahway,  N.  J.,  where  he  owns  a  charming  farm. 


-14— 


(I'roiii  i>  i)ii"l"Krii|.li  I'v   Mmims,.!,,  Clii.  ..III.  Ml 


■HEX  Miss  Elsie  cJc 
Wolfe  became  an 
actress,  it  was  a 
rare  thing  in  this  country 
for  young  women  of  social 
standing  to  adopt  the  stage 
as  a  profession.  It  there- 
fore required  a  good  deal  of 
moral  pluck  on  her  part  to 
do   so.     The  niuninier  was 

still  considered  to  resemble  more  or  less  the  portrait  given  in  the  old  Eng- 
lish statute  books:   "Such  as  wake  in  the  night  and  sleep  in   the  day  and 
hunt   customable  taverns  and  ale-houses  and  routs  about,  and  no   man  wot 
from  whence  they  come  or  whither  they  go;  "  and  there  was  the  very  natural 
jealousy  of  the  profession  itself  to  fight  against.     Be  it  said,  however,  that 
the  profession  behaved   most  generously  to  the   new  aspirant   for  theatrical 
laurels  and  that  society  crowded  to  see  Miss  Elsie  de  Wolfe  and  to  applaud 
her  when  she  made  her  public  debut  as  Fabienne  in   "  Therm-dor."     It  was 
an  unfortunate  beginnmg,  and  Miss  de  Wolfe  would  have  done  far  more 
wisely  had  she  stuck  to  her  original  idea  of  commencing  from  the  bottom  of 
the  ladder  and  joining  a  stock  company  in  order  to  do  so.      At  the  same 
time.  Miss  de  Wolfe's  acting  did  not  deserve  the  severe  criticism  it  secured 
from  the  New  York  press  when  "  Thermidor  "  was  first  produced  in  that 
city  in  October,   1891.      The  part  she  played  would  have  overweighted  many 
an  experienced  actress,  but  Miss  de  Wolfe  had  taste  and  tact  enough  to  save 
herself  from  committing  any  dramatic  offenses.      When   "Thermidor"  was 
withdrawn  from  the  stage — its  failure  was  principally  caused  by  the  lack  of  in- 
terest in  its  story  to  an  American  public — Miss  de  Wolfe  very  wisely  accepted 
less  difficult  roles  and  is  now  a  very  capable  member  of  Mr.  Charles  Froh- 
nian's  stock  company.      It  was  by  accident  that  she  discovered   she  had  any 
ability  for  the  stage.      She  was  asked  to  play  for  charity  a  supernumerary  part  in 
"The  White  .Milliner"  at  the  Criterion  Theatre,  in  London,  under  the  stage  di- 
rection of  Charles  Wyndham.      In  the  cast  were  Weedon  Grossmith,  who  was  an 
-  amateur  in  those  days,  Lady  Violet  Greville,  daughter  of  the   "Red  Duchess,"  and 

'>X*»^  Charles  Coliiaghi.  This  was  in  1885,  while  the  Soudan  war  was  going  on.  Just  be- 
fore the  performance  one  of  the  principal  actresses  heard  of  her  husband's  death  in  battle 
and  Miss  de  Wolfe  took  her  place.  Her  success  then  led  to  her  taking  part  in  amateur  the- 
atricals in  this  country  and  she  appeared  as  Helen  in  "  The  Hunchback,"  as  Lady  'Feazle, 
Lady  Clara  Seymour  in  "A  Cup  of  Tea,"  in  Mrs.  Burton  Harrison's  "  Mouse  Trap,"  in  "Drifted 
Apart  "  and  "  Contrast.  "  For  months  before  appearing  as  a  professional  she  studied  in  I'aris  with 
Mademoiselle  Bartet  and  in  London  with  Hermann  \'ezin,  probably  the  best  elocutionist  on  the  Eng- 
lish-speaking stage.  The  .season  following  the  production  of  "  Thermidor  "  she  played  the  parts  of  Constance  in  a  farcical  comedy 
called  "Joseph,"  Mrs.  Pendleton  in  Mrs.  Doremus's  "Four  in  Hand"  and  Mrs.  S'huttleworth  in  "The  Judge,"  by  Arthur  Law, 
Her  performances  in  these  characters  displayed  lack  of  experience,  but  proved  that  the  newcomer  had  dramatic  ability  which  only  re- 
quired study  and  application  to  develop.  Since  then  she  has  worked  most  industriously  at  her  art.  This  season  Miss  de  Wolfe 
showed  she  had  made  quite  a  remarkable  stride  in  her  profession  by  her  performance  of  Lady  Kate  Ffennel  in  "  The  Bauble  Shop." 
As  Lady  "  Charley  "  W'ishanger,  in  Henry  Arthur  Jones's  "  Masqueraders,"  Miss  de  Wolfe  has  not  a  pleasant  part  to  play,  but  she 
indicates  the  few  traits  sketched  bv  the  author  with  a  remarkablv  delicate  touch. 


-16- 


^^ 


■J^W^^/y%\'"  not   object 


ROBERT    TABER. 

'  HERE  are  few  young  actors  on  the  American  stage  to-daj'  who  take  their  profession 
so  seriously  as  does   Robert  Taber.      In  everything  he  does   you    recognize   the 
result  of  careful  study  and  the  study  of  a  man  who  is  an  artist  by  nature.     Some- 
times his  work  is  so  refined  as  to  be  "caviare  to  the  general,"  but  to  persons  who  do 
not  object  to  try  a  little  thinking  in  a  theatre,  it  is  delightful  in  its  finish  and  exquisite  in 
delicacy.      He  is  the  only  Romeo  on  our  boards,  and  indeed,  for  the  matter  of 
the  only  Romeo  on  the  English-speaking  stage.      His  Claude  Melnotte  we  have 
seen  equalled,  and  of  his  Malvolio.  which  we  have  not  been  fortunate  enough 
to  witness,  we  have  heard  unstinted  praise  from  competent  critics.     We  hope  that 
ere  long  Mr.  Taber  and  his  charming  wife  will  give  us  a  taste  of  their  quality  in  a 
new  play,  so  that  their  many  admirers  may  judge  them  in  their  own  creations.     It  is 
a  melancholy  fact  that  as  some  great  cities,  such  as  New  York,  grow  older,  the  less 
their  inhabitants  appreciate  the  classics;  the  more  the  classics  become  things  one 
talks  about  a  great  deal  but  never  reads.     The  classical  drama,  unless  indeed  it  be 
staged  by  an  Irving,  meets  with  little  favor  in  the  metropolis:  and  so  the  Tabers  pass 
by  New  York,  while  in  cultivated  Boston  they  are  ever  welcome. 

Mr.   Taber  comes  of  a  New  York  family.     His  father  was  a  cotton  merchant. 
Each  of  his  three  brothers  has  made  his  mark.     One  is  professor  of  higher  mathe- 
matics at  Clark   University  and  writes  profound   treatises  on  that  abstruse  subject 
which  only  a  few  can  understand ;  another,  a  successful  railroad  man,  is  a  member  of 
a  good  government  club  which  is  working  hard  for  the  regeneration  of  New  York ; 
'     the  third  is  a  landscape  painter  of  great  merit  who  exhibits  at  the  Society  of  Amer- 
ican  .\rtists ;    while  his   only  sister,  the  wife   of   Henry   Holt,    the  publisher,    has  a 
great  talent  for  decorative  design.     As  a  child  Mr.  Taber  showed  great  fondness  for 
the  stage,  and  as  a  youth  was  continually  taking  part  in  amateur  theatricals  in  the 
basement  of  the  deaf-mute  Church  of  St.  .Ann.      With  some  difiiculty  he  succeeded 
in  obtaining  the  leave  of  his  ]iarents  to  join  Franklin  Sargent's  dramatic  school,  where 
he  worked  diligently  for  a  couple  of  terms.      Richard  Watson  Gilder  introduced  the 
young  aspirant  for  dramatic  laurels  to  Madame  Modjeska,  and  when  in  the  early  part 
of   i8S6  she  gave  a  performance  of  "As  You   Like  It"  for  the  benefit  of  the   Polish 
exiles,  he  played  the  part  of  Sylvius  and  pleased  her  so  much  that  she  engaged  him 
for  her  company.      That  season  he  made  his  professional  debut  as  Amiens  in  the  same 
play.     Next  he  appeared  in  "The  Chouans  "  as  an  officer  who  was  killed  in  the  first 
act;  but  in  the  following  season  Madame  Modjeska  allotted  him  better  parts.      His  first 
recognition  from  the  public  he  secured  in  "Measure  for  Measure,"  when  he  was  play- 
^'^"    ''ig  Claudio  to  Modjeska's  Isabella.      In  the  third  act,  when  he  pleaded  with   Isabella 
iv  •  to  save  his  life  at  the  price  of  her  virtue,  "the  pit  rose  at  him."     The  speech  beginning 

"  Ay,  but  to  die,  and  go  we  know  not;  to  lie  in  cold  obstruction  and  to  rot,"  was  mag- 
nificently rendered.  There  was  such  pathos  in  his  appeal,  "Sweet  sister,  let  me  live;" 
such  desperation  in  his  cry,  "  Oh,  hear  me,  Isabella,"  that  the  audience  went  wild  with  excitement.  Robert  Taber  had  proved  him- 
self an  actor  of  remarkable  ability.  The  following  season  he  was  engaged  to  support  Miss  Julia  !Marlowe  and  played  such  parts  as 
Claude  Melnotte,  Romeo,  Orlando,  and  the  Duke  in  "Twelfth  Night."  During  the  season  of  1890-91  he  played  Lucien  de  Noir- 
ville  with  William  Terriss  in  "  Roger  la  Honte."  An  engagement  with  Mr.  Augustm  Daly  followed,  but  for  a  whole  season  he  did 
not  appear.  He  then  rejoined  Miss  Marlowe's  forces  and  in  the  spring  of  1893  played  for  three  months  with  the  Coglilans.  In 
May,  1894,  he  was  married  to  Miss  Marlowe  and  has  since  then  been  her  leading  man.  One  important  addition  he  has  added  to  his 
repertoire  since  his  marriage,  and  that  is  Joseph  Surface  in  "  The  School  for  Scandal." 


(if) 


-18- 


JENNIE  GOLDTHWAITE. 

T  seems  as  though  it  were  vain  for  the  critic  with  a  leaning  towards  high  art  to  try  and  raise  the  standard  of 

the  drama  of  to-day.     He  preaches  to  the  playgoer  that  more  benefit  is  to  be  derived  from  Shakespeare  than 

from  Hoyt;  that  "Brass  Monkeys,"  "  Corncrackers  "  and  "City  Directories"  are  vulgar  trash  unworthy 

of  the  patronage  of  a  sane  person,  and  that  intellectual  aliment  and  amusement  should  be  gathered  from  the 

works  of  the  Ibsens,  the  Hauptmanns  and  the  Maeterlincks.      And  he  wastes  his  sweetness  on  the  desert 

A  dramatic  Ur.  Parkhurst  himself  would  fail  to  bring  about  reform.     The  majority  wants  rubbish 

on  the  stage — something  it  can  easily  understand;  something  that  needs  no  thinking,  for  its  brain 

has  been  wearied  by  the  rush  of  the  day,  and  at  night  that  brain  needs  rest.      .And,  wanting  this, 

the  majority  will  have  it  and  pay  for  it.      Elevating  the  stage  has  proved  a  poorly  paying  business 

to  those  who  have  entered  it,  and  more  especially  in  New  York.     Actors  and  actresses  who  have 

started  with  noble  ambitions  have  over  and  over  again  had  to  give  up  the  struggle  or  else  starve. 

We  do  not  know  that  Miss  Jennie  Goldthv.aite  ever  fought  for  high  art  or  has  any  ambition  to 

shine  as  an  artist  in  the  legitimate  drama;  but  we  do  know  that  she  has  exhibited  a  remarkable 

amount  of  talent  in  such  parts;  has  the  ability  to  become  a  first-class  comedienne,  and  that  she 

has  elected  to  play  in  comic  opera  and  in  a  role  altogether  unworthy  of  her.      It  seems  a  pity 

that  so  clever  a  young  woman  should  waste  her  energies  on  such  trivial  matter,  for  actresses 

of  her  years  possessed  of  real  dramatic  talent  are  few  and  far  between.      However, 

it  is  no  use  grumbling.      Comic  opera,  or  rather  works  which  style  themselves  comic, 

and  farce-comedy  are  the  rage,  and  the  mummer  must  pander  to  the  prevailing  taste 

if  he  wishes  to  live. 

Miss  Goldthwaite,  who  is  now  playing  the  part  of  Psyche  Persimmons,  the  sleepy 
girl  in  "Dr.  Syntax,"  hails  from  the  Hoosier  State,  and  it  was  in  Indianapolis  that 
she  commenced  her  dramatic  career  when  she  was  but  eleven  years  of  age.  As  the 
heroine  of  "  Cinderella,"  not  only  her  good  looks  but  also  her  dramatic  instinct 
attracted  considerable  attention,  and  she  was  engaged  to  play  the  same  part  in 
Chicago.  In  1887  she  toured  through  the  West  with  a  company  having  a  fairly 
large  repertoire  and  thereby  gained  a  large  amount  of  useful  experience.  The 
following  season  she  played  the  title  role  in  "The  Little  Xugget."  In  the  season  of 
1889-90  she  made  a  very  good  impression  both  through  her  acting  and  singing — 
Miss  Goldthwaite  has  a  rich  and  well-trained  mezzo-soprano  voice — as  Little  Dolly 
in  "The  Little  Tycoon."  During  her  next  engagement  she  created  the  part  of 
Helen  French  in  Bill  Nye's  comedy,  "The  Cadi,"  and  then  acted  Sue  Endaly  in 
"  Blue  Jeans."  During  the  season  of  1893-94  there  was  produced  at  the  Fourteenth 
Street  Theatre,  New  York,  an  extraordinary  piece  by  Joseph  Arthur,  called  "  The 
Corncracker. "  Nothing  quite  like  it  had  ever  been  seen  before.  It  was  a  combina- 
tion of  horse-play,  farce-comedy  and  melodrama.  It  dealt  with  missing  wills,  long- 
parted  parents  and  children,  and  showed  an  elevator  scene  which  was  realistic 
enough  but  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  plot.  In  this  remarkable  farrago  Miss 
Goldthwaite  appeared  as  Maria  Mail  and  showed  what  a  clever  character  actress  she  was.  When  she  appeared  in  the  following 
season  in  "A  Lady  of  Venice,"  the  part  of  a  passionate  adventuress,  small  though  her  opportunity  was,  she  distinguished  herself 
greatly  by  the  truth  of  her  acting.  Indeed,  she  was  the  one  bright  spot  in  the  performance  of  this  ill-fated  piece.  She  then  went 
back  to  comic  opera  in  Philadelphia,  and,  as  has  already  been  stated,  is  now  in  DeWolf  Hopper's  comic  opera  company. 

It  it  but  fair  to  say  that  "Dr.  Syntax"  has  been  received,  wherever  played,  with  a  great  deal  of  enthusiasm,  and  Miss  Gold- 
thwaite, in  the  part  of  Psyche  Persimmons,  has  been  much  praised  by  the  critics.  She  plays  it  in  a  truly  humorous  spirit  that  is  very 
catching,  and  she  evidently  studied  the  part  as  seriously  as  she  would  have  done  a  role  in  legitimate  drama.  That  she  should  be  so 
successful  in  such  a  part,  considering  that  her  last  role  was  a  tragic  one,  speaks  well  for  the  versatility  of  her  talent.  At  the  same 
time  it  also  proves  how  entertaining  she  could  be  in  higher  comedy  roles,  and  makes  one  regret  all  the  more  that  she  does  not  con- 
line  herself  to  them. 


c:^-4-{— 'j. 


A  "STIRRING  DWARF"  of 
just  twenty-two  years  of  age 
IS  Adolf  z'lnk,  of  the  Lillipu- 
tian   Company,    and    many    a    point 
can  he  give  to  the  "sleeping  giants' 
of  our  comic  stage.     How  much,  for 
instance,  could  they  learn  of  him  in 
the  art  of  pantomime  and   in  the      , 
method  of  his  play.      When  he  is      /' 
on  the  stage  you  are  seeing  pure 
comedy  through  the  wrong  end  of 

an    opera   glass.      You    may    not 
understand  a  word  he  is  saying.      The 
face  and  action  of  this  pygmy  pantomimist 
will  tell  you  almost  everything.     His  talent  does  not 
appear  to  have  been  inherited.     His  parents  were  poor 
weavers  of  Mahrisch  Neustadt  in  Austria.     They  and 
the  rest  of  their  children  were  of  normal 
height,  but  the  dwarf  of  the  family  seems 


to  have  absorbed  most  of  its  wit 
and  at  school  was  generally  to  be 
found  at  the  head  of  his  class.    When 
W'  jj    he  was  nearly  si.Nteen  he  joined  the  Lilli- 
puts   and   at   once   made  a  hit  in  a  comedy 
called  "Ten  Girls  and  No  Man."     Since  then 
he  has,  under  the  training  of  the  Rosenfelds, 
developed  into  a  remarkable  comedian. 
In  "  Humpty  Dumpty  "  he  divides  the 
honors  with   Franz   Ebert   and   is  in- 
deed  considered   by  many  to    be  the 
superior   of   the   leading  comedian  of 
the  Lilliputian  Company.    As 
a  singer  of  comic  songs  he  is 
inimitable  and  he  speaks  the 
slang  of  the  New  York  gutter 
snipe  as  if  to  the  manner  born. 


t.7 


f 


received. 


/■  VI  ■ 


•HEX    Mr.    James 
A.    Heme     first 
commenced      tn 
preach  the  gospel  o(  real- 
ism on   the  stage,  he  was   hooted  at   and 
scoffed    by  the  critics.      Mr.  W.  D.  How- 
ells,  however,  stood  by  him  and  his  earnest- 
ness gradually  gained   him  many  friends. 
Somewhere  about   1890   he  copyrighted  a 
play  called  "Shore  Acres"  and  soon  after- 
ward it  appeared  under  the  nairie  of  '•  Shore 
Acres    Subdivision  "    in    the    West.      Re- 
christened  as   "Uncle  Nat"   it  was  later 
played  in  Chicago,  where  it  was  favorably 

Boston  did  not  like  it,  but  when  it  was  produced  in  October.   1S93,  at  tlie  Fifth  Avenue 
Theatre,  New  York,  it  set  the  critics  a  thinking,  if  it  did  not  altogether  please  them,  and  the  public 
showed  its  cariosity,  if  not  always  its  appreciation,  by  attending  the  production  in  crowds,  first  at 
ihe  Fifth  Avenue  and  then  at  Daly's  Theatre.      Miss  Katherine  Grey,  the  subject  of  our  sketch, 
,-V\-  took  a  prominent  part  in  this  memorable  production,  playing  the  part  of  Helen  Berr\',  the  daughter 

Jil^^  of  the  coarse-grained  owner  of  "Shore  Acres."  She  is  like  Mr.  Heme  a  believer  in  realism  on  the 
\  stage.  With  him  and  with  other  zealous  admirers  of  the  apostle  of  such  realism,  she  has  studied 
Ibsen's  dramas,  though  we  believe  she  has  not  yet  appeared  in  any  of  them  in  public.  It  is 
doubtful  whether  it  will  not  be  many  a  long  day  before  the  American  theatre-going  public  is  yet 
ready  for  what  the  Ibsenites  are  fond  of  calling  "verity"  on  the  stage,  and  I  imagine  that  the  suc- 
cess of  "  Shore  Acres"  was  rather  a  success  of  curiosity  than  anything  else.  But  there  is  a  charm- 
ing love  story  in  it  and  that  pleased  the  Philistines.  It  was  Miss  Katherine  Grey  who  played  the 
woman's  role  in  this  love  episode,  and  far  more  interesting  was  her  performance  than  the  realistic  way  in  which  a  dinner  was 
cooked  and  afterward  eaten.  Nothing  could  have  been  better  than  the  scene  between  herself  and  her  tender,  self-abnegating  uncle, 
Nathan'l  Berry  (played  by  Mr.  Heme),  when  she  was  on  the  point  of  eloping  with  her  lover,  Sam  Warren.  It  was  true  to  nature  and 
full  of  poetry,  and  there  was  nothing  in  it  to  denote  Ibsenism  or  any  other  ism.  Mi.ss  Grey  is  a  young  woman  wlio  takes  her  art 
very  seriously.  When  she  accepts  a  part,  she  is  not  satisfied  with  learning  the  words  and  then  repeating  them  like  a  parrot,  but 
studies  her  every  action  as  well.  It  was  love  for  her  art  that  made  her  recently  throw  up  a  contract  with  Mr.  Henry  Miner  and 
accept  an  engagement  with  Mr.  Richard  Mansfield,  for  Mr.  Mansfield  has  not  the  reputation  in  the  profession  of  being  the  most 
pleasant  of  men  to  work  for.  But  he  does  understand  his  art,  and  if  the  public — such  as  the  New  York  public — does  not  appreciate 
his  good  work,  so  much  the  worse  for  them.  Miss  Grey  did  appreciate  it  and  knew  that  in  joining  .Mr.  Mansfield's  forces  she  would 
not  have  to  stick  to  one  role  for  months,  but  would  gain  experience  in  a  large  repertoire.  Already  she  has  played  with  him  :  Marcelle 
in  "A  Parisian  Romance,"  Agnes  in  "Dr.  Jekyl  and  Mr.  Hyde,"  Marie  Walewska  in  "Napoleon,"  Mariana  in  "  Beau  Brummel," 
and  Louka  in  "Arms  and  the  Man."  Her  performances  in  these  parts  have  been  particularly  well  received  in  Boston.  Miss  Grey 
comes  from  San  Francisco.  She  entered  the  dramatic  profession  in  1889,  when  she  became  a  member  of  Augustin  Daly's  company. 
After  one  season  there  she  joined  Charles  Frohman's  forces,  appearing  as  Mrs.  Haverhill  in  "  Shenandoah  "  and  Evangeline  in  ".Ml 
the  Comforts  of  Home."  She  also  played  in  "Jane"  and  "  Chums,"  and  created  the  part  of  Kate  Fessenden  in  "  The  New  South." 
Before  playing  in  "  .Shore  Acres  "  she  took  part  in  a  production  of  "  Roger  La  Honte  "  in  -San  Francisco.  In  almost  every  role  she 
has  played.  Miss  Grey  has  shown  a  marked  improvement  on  the  one  preceding  it.  If  she  continues  in  her  good  work  it  will  not  be 
long  before  she  finds  herself  enrolled  among  the  American  actresses  of  the  very  first  rank;  and  as  she  has  never  exhibited  any  desire 
to  shun  her  responsibilities,  we  have  no  doubt  that  she  will  "arrive,"  as  the  French  have  it.  Miss  (irey  was  married  a  few  years  ago 
to  Paul  Arthur,  but  has  obtained  a  divorce  from  him. 


Ih 


—24- 


\ 


(Kmin  n  phoU>>:mpli  by  li.  J.  Talk.  New  Vnrk.) 


«^  -        o'   > 


ROBERT    HILLI.A 

IT  is  not  on  record  that  Mr.  Robert  Milliard,  familiarly  known  as  "Bob," 
pored  much  over  Shakespeare  when  he  was  passing  through  the  commer- 
cial course  at  the  University  of  Neiv  York  or  studying  at  Bishop's  College 
in  Canada ;   nor  that  when  he  first  appeared  in  Wall  Street  as  an  office  boy,  he 
spent  his  employer's  time  in  spouting  dramatic  soliloquies.      He  had  reached 
the  responsible  position  of  confidential  secretary  to  Mr.  Edward  Brandon,  the 
stockbroker,  before  he  became  stage-struck.      Born  in  New  York  in  May,  1857, 
he  drifted  to  Brooklyn,  which  we  understand  on  the  highest  authority  to  be  a 
city  well  worth  visiting — once.    There  be  was  attracted  by  the  wild  fascinations 
of  private  theatricals,  joined  half  a  dozen  or  so  amateur  societies,  and  at  length 
became  president  of  the  Gilbert,  in  which  he  and   Miss  Edith   Kingdon,  now 
Mrs.  George  Gould,  often  played  leading  parts  together.      When  the  Criterion 
Theatre  was  built  in  the  "  City  of  Churches,"  Mr.   Hilliard  was  offered  and 
accepted  the  management,  and  opened  it  with   Lester  Wallack  in 
"  Rosedale  " ;   and  then,  too,   he   made   his   professional   debut   in 
•'False  Shame."  in  Uhich  he  played  for  a  week  with  considerable 
success.      During  the   same    season    William    Gillette's   war  play, 
"  Held  by  the  Enemy,"  was  performed  for  the  first  time  at  the 
Criterion.      At  the  last  moment   Mr.  Hilliard  was  called  upon  to 
take  the  place  of  the  leading  man,  who  had  been  suddenlv  taken 
sick.      He  had  but  si.x  hours  in  which  to  learn  his  part.      However, 
with  the  aid  of  "books"  in  every  entrance  and  "parts"  of  manu- 
script  strewn   all   over  the   stage,  he   did   manage   to  get   through  it 
without  the  prompting  being  perceptible  so  far  as  the  audience  was 
concerned.     The   Criterion   passed    into    other  hands.     Mr.    Hilliard 
made  up  his  mind  to   leave  the  "bulls  and  bears"  to  take  care  of 
themselves  and  determined  to   tread  in  sock  and   buskin.      His   first 
salaried  engagement  was  made  with   Mr.   Charles  Frohman,  and  he 
appeared  in  the  fall  of  18S6  at  the  Standard  Theatre,  New  Y'ork,  in  a 
play   by   Henri    Rochefort,   called   "A    Daughter  of    Ireland."     Miss 
Georgia  Cayvan  played  the  heroine  and   Mr.  Hilliard  the  part  of  Sir 
Richard  Sweeney.      It  was  a   preposterous  play,    full  of   fustian  and 
absurdity.      Mr.  Hiiliard's  acting,  which  the  critics  found  to  be  ama- 
teurish and  stiff,  did  not  improve  matters,  and  "A 
Daughter  of  Ireland"   proved    a   glorious    failure. 
-Mr.    Hiiliard's    ne.\t   attempt,   which    was  made  in 
"Saints  and  Sinners,"  with   Mr.  Stoddard, 
Miss   Annie  Russell  and   Miss   Marie   Bur- 
roughes  in  the  leading  parts,  proved  more  of 
a   success,   and  when    he   appeared 


J^ 
^ 


:^~ 


hit 


As  in  a  Looking  Glass 


with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McKee 
Rankin  at  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Theatre,  New  York,  in  the 
"  Golden  Giant,"  he  made  a 
then  with  Nat  Goodwin  in 


For  a  short  time  he  played  with  Mrs.  Langtry  in 
"  Turned  Up,"  in  the  original  production  of  "Paul  Kauvar,"  and  in  the  matinee  production  of  "Elaine"  when 
-Miss  Annie  Russell  scored  her  first  great  success.  Mr.  Hilliard  now  started  on  a  tour  with  "Mr.  Barnes  of 
New  York,"  which  production  netted  .Messrs.  Sanger  and  Gunther,  it  is  said,  over  eighty  thousand  dollars  in  one 
season.  After  playing  iu  "The  Walloon"  at  the  New  York  Star  Theatre,  Mr.  Hilliard  created  the  part  of  Perry 
Bascom  in  Joseph  Arthur's  "  Blue  Jeans,"  and  received  much  critical  praise  for  the  mannerjiii  which  he  did  it. 
Mr.  Hilliard  is  the  author  of  a  one-act  play  called  "Adrift";  of  "The  Fabricator,"  played  by  Roland  Reed  under 
the  title  of  "As  Innocent  as  a  Lamb,"  and  an  adaptation  of  Robert  Buchanan's  '•  Fra  Gi'acomo. "  For  the  iast  four 
years  of  her  life  Miss  Matilda  Heron  was  Mr.  Hiiliard's  dramatic  preceptress,  and  what  success  he  has  met  with 
on  the  stage  he  owes  to  her  teaching. 


-26— 


7"^- 


/i^m 


i^'WJ^f*rws^^i'4'mm^ 


SARAH    BERNHARDT. 

■  HERE  are  few  persons  on  the  stage  about 
whose  genius   so  much  has   been   said 
and  written  as    Madame    Sarah   Bern 
hardt.       Comparatively    httte  notice  has    been 
''  ■  tal;en   of  her   perseverance   and    industry — the 

real  causes  of  her  success.      We  do  not  suppose  there  is  any- 
luie  to  deny  that  she  lias  exceptional  natural  endowments;   but  had  it 
not  been  for  hej"  arduous  training  in  her  profession,  her  acquisition  of  all 
ts  numerous  branches,  she  would  never  have  become  the  great  actress  she 
is;  and  to-day  Sarah  Bernhardt,  a  woman  of  fifty  and  with  an  experience  of 
over  thirty  years  on   the  stage,  studies   her  parts  as  diligently  as  she  did 
when  she  was  trying  to  blot  out  the  memory  of  the  comparative  failure  of 
her  hrst  appearance  at  the  Theatre    Kranc^ais.      There  are  some  who  consider 
her  the  greatest  actress  of  the  day,  others  who  will  tell  you  that  she  is  inferior 
to  La  Duse.      We  have  known  Parisians  who  often  saw  Rachel,  declare  that 
Sarah   Bernhardt  was  as  great  as  she  in  tragic  parts.     On  the  other  hand, 
Matthew  Arnold  said  that  Rachel  began  where  Sarah  left  off.      Be  this  as  it 
may,  Sarah  Bernhardt  continues  to  fascinate  the  public  of  two  worlds,  not- 
withstanding the  bitter  attacks  that  have  been  made  upon  lier  art  and  in  spite 
of  the  talent  of  her  rivals.      Dramatic  students  may  with  advantage  ponder  over 
the  artistic  life  of  Madame  Bernhardt.      One  lesson  they  will  learn  from  it  is  that 
though  they  maybe  endowed  with  what  are  popularly  known  as  "artistic  tempera- 
ments," nature  alone  will  not  make  them  actors.     They  will  discover,  too,  the  mis- 
take of  believing  that  they  need  no  study  save  that  necessary  to  learn  the  words  of  the 
part  they  are  going  to  represent,  and  that  they  have  only  to  step  from  private  life  onto 
the  stage  to  command  immediate  recognition. 

Rosine  Bernhardt,  for  that  is  her  real  name,  was  born  in  Paris,  October  22,  1844.  She 
was  a  Jewess  of  French  and  Dutch  parentage.  When  she  was  quite  a  child  her  father 
caused  her  to  be  baptized,  and  she  was  placed  in  a  convent  near  \'ersailles.  She  was 
expelled  four  times  from  the  sisterhood  ami  as  many  times  returned  to  it  full  of  repentance. 
One  of  the  nuns  remarked  when  the  child  took  her  final  departure:  "She  is  either 
destined  to  become  a  fearful  subject  of  scandal  in  this  world  or  a  tremendous  light  in 
the  Church."  She  was  given  her  choice  between  becoming  an  actress  or  a  nun.  She  chose 
the  former  and  was  admitted  to  the  Paris  Conservatoire  in  1858.  Having  received  second 
prizes  for  tragedy  and  comedy,  she  was  entitled  to  a  debut  at  the  Theatre  Francais,  and 
this  she  made  August  11,  1862,  in  the  part  of  Iphrgenie.  One  critic  described  her  as 
" hflle  ft  elegante."  The  rest  either  left  her  severely  alone  or  deplored  having  had  in- 
flicted on  them  such  crude  acting.  .Sarah  has  always  had  a  weakness  for  notoriety,  and 
during  her  brief  stay  at  the  Frangais  she  started  to  gain  it  by  slapping  a  sister  actress  in 
the  face.  .She  went  to  the  Gymnase  and  made  a  complete  fiasco.  Then  she  disappeared 
from  Paris,  but  later  turned  up  at  the  Odeon,  where  Alexander  Dumas  discovered  there 
was  something  in  her.  It  was  not  till  1872,  hovvever,  that  by  her  performance  of  IDonna 
.Maria  in  "  Ruy  Bias"  she  created  a  furore.  The  Comedie  Fran^aise  threw  open  its 
doors  to  her  and  almost  took  her  by  force  from  the  Odeon.  It  was  not  until  two  years 
later,  when  she  and  Sophie  Croizette  appeared  together  in  "  Le  Sphin.x,"  that  her  position 
was  a,ssured.  In  1S80  she  severed  her  connection  with  the  Comedie  Fran^aise  and  played  in  London,  where  she  became  the  craze, 
and  the  good  liritons  made  fools  of  themselves  over  the  talented  Gaul.  She  exhibited  a  collection  of  her  paintings  and  sculptures, 
more  or  less  painful  to  look  at,  and  got  Mr.  (Gladstone  to  visit  her  at  the  gallery  where  they  were  shown.  The  French  courts  con- 
demned Sarah  to  pay  twenty  thousand  dollars  costs  and  damages  to  the  Comedie  Frangaise  for  her  breach  of  contract,  and  she 
travelled  all  over  Europe,  to  be  courted  by  sovereigns,  feted  by  statesmen  and  lauded  by  literary  men.  In  1881  she  paid  her  first  visit 
to  this  country,  where,  strangely  enough,  her  self-advertising  methods  were  frowned  upon,  but  her  genius  was  acknowledged  and 
not  too  indiscriminately  praised.  In  April,  1882,  the  divine  Sarah  married  Damala,  a  handsome  actor  of  Greek  origin.  She  soon 
afterwards  divorced  him.  Later  they  "  made  it  up,"  and  in  18S9  he  died.  But  what  interesting  things  Sarah  has  done  during  the 
past  fifty  years  would  fill  ponderous  tomes.      What  she  has  not  done  would  be  scarcely  worth  mentioning. 


s 


SOL    SMITH    RUSSELL. 

OL  SMITH   RUSSELL  is  an  actor  of  the  people  just  as  Charles 
Dickens   was    the    people's   novelist.     He    is    unlike   any   other 
player  on  the  American  stage.     He  ever  appeals  to  the  better 
feeling  of    his  audience  but  never   indulges  in   cheap    claptrap.      His 
pathos  is  never  maudlin;  there  is  no  coarseness  in  his  drollery.     At 
one  moment  he  moves  you  to  laughter,  at  the  next  he  will  be  causing 
tears;  but  he  does  not  harp  upon  a  melancholy  string.      His  method  is 
so  simple,  his  play  so  free  from  all  theatrical  device,  his  style  so  natural, 
that  you  are  liable  to  forget  that  it  is  an  artist  of  no  ordinary  talent  who 
can  present  to  you  a  picture  so  true  to  nature.      The  success  he  has  had 
in  his  particular  line  took  him  many  a  long  year  to  gain,  and  he  lias 
been  nearly  everything  on  the  stage  from   negro  song  and  dance  man   up- 
ward.     Mr.  Russell  was  born  in   Brunswick,  Mo.,  in  1848.      When  the  War 
broke  out  he  enlisted  as  a  drummer  boy  and  made  his  first  public  appearance 
on  the  stage  in  a  canvas-covered  theatre  put  up  by  the  soldiers  at  Cairo,  111. 
Here  he  sang  between  the  acts  and  drummed  in  the  orchestra  for  six  dollars 
a  week.      Then  he  was  advanced  to  play  the  part  of  a  negro  girl  in  "The 
Hidden  Hand  "  and  sang  patriotic  songs.     He  joined  a  strolling  company  and 
tried  to  add  walking  on  a  slack  wire  to  his  other  accomplishments,  but 
in  this  he  signally  failed.      When  he  was  seventeen  years  old  he  was  en- 
gaged as  second  low  comedian  at  Ben.  DeBar's   theatre,   in  St.  Louis, 
laving  in  the  meanwhile  gone  through   pretty  hard  times,  which,  how- 
ever, never  appear  to  have  affected   his  good  spirits.      A  little   later  he 
made  a  western  tour  with  the  Berger  family  and  gained  some  reputation 
as  a  humorist,   comic  singer  and   lecturer.      Then  we  find    him   a 
member  of   the  stock  company  at  the   Chestnut  Street  Theatre, 
Philadelphia,  and  a  few  years  later  with  Augustin  Daly's  company 
at  the  Fifth  .-\ venue  Theatre,  New  York.      Mr.  liussell  had  by  this 
time  gained  the  name  of  being  a  first-rate  comedian,  and  several 
managers  tried  to  induce  him  to  "star"  for  them.      His  old  friend, 
Mr.  Fred  tl.  lierger,  succeeded   in  doing  so  and   Mr.  Russell   ap- 
peared as  the  star  in  ' '  Edgewood 
Folks"  at  a  salary  of   fifty  dollars 
a  week,  which  in   1880  was  con- 
sidered munificent.     He  made  an 
instant  success  and  for  five  years 
in  succession  he  played  in  the  same 
piece.     He  was  given  a  third  share 
in  the  stock  company  and  then  be- 
came   Mr.    Berger's    full    partner. 
"Edgewood    Folks,"    which    was 
written  by  J.  E.  Brown,  of  Boston, 
was  a  very  comprehensive  piece. 
In    it     Mr.     Ru.ssell     sang    seven 
songs  and  made  ten  changes,  and 
this  he  did  for  fifteen  hundred  per- 
iam  Warren's  retirement  from   the   stage,  Mr.  Russell 


formances.     For  a  short  time  after  Mr.  W 

filled  his  parts  at  the  Boston  Museum  and  then  issued  forth  as  a  star  once  more  in  the  "Country 
Editor"  and  "  Pa."  Then  came  "Bewitched,"  by  E.  E.  Kidder,  and  ".A  Poor  Relation,"  by  the 
same  author,  in  which  play  Mr.  Russell  played  the  part  of  Noah  \'ale,  the  poor  inventor.  This 
was  followed  by  "The  Tale  of  a  Coat,"  written  by  Dion  Boucicault  during  the  last  year  of  his 
life.  It  was  produced  at  Daly's  Theatre,  New  York.  It  was  a  failure  and  .Mr.  Clyde  Fitch  made 
an  entirely  new  play  out  of  it,  called  ".April  Weather,"  which  was  far  more  successful. 


4-ii^''^^p2»' 


S^i&Oiiix-S'v.ij.ijft*!*.- 


LILY  LANGTRY. 

To  describe  Mrs.    Langtry  as  a 
great  actress  or  to  say  there  is  any  possibility  of  her  ever  becom- 
ing so  would  be  absurd.      But  to  insist  that  she  has  no  talsjnt 
y^,  for  the  stage  and  has  not  acquired  dramatic   skill  would  be 

?--^^  equally  ridiculous.  As  an  artist  she  has  her  limitations  and  no 
51  ®(f|^  one  knows  that  better  than  she  does  herself.  She  has  none  of 
that  fascmating  strangeness,  that  wildness  of  inspiration  which 
are  characteristics  of  those  human  beings  who  bear  the  sacred  fire; 
but  how  few  and  far  between  those  persons  are!  She  is  not  always 
convincing,  for  she  rarely  merges  herself  into  the  role  she  is  playing 
and  never  quite  reaches  the  heart.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  how 
delightful  it  is  to  look  upon  her  almost  perfect  face,  to  watch  the 
graceful  movements  of  her  superb  figure  and  to  listen  to  her  melodious 
voice.  We  may  not  care  to  see  her  Rosalind  more  than  once;  be  glad 
at  Lady  Macbeth  is  no  longer  in  her  repertoire,  and  that  she  has  ceased  to 
uliet  or  Julia  in  "The  Hunchback  ";  but  she  can  be  exceedingly  good  in 
parts,  for  instance,  as  the  heroine  of  "A  Wife's  Peril,"  and  has  undoubtedly 
great  strides  in  her  profession  since  she  first  determined  to  make  her  living 
;tress.  Before  that  she  had  been  not  merely  the  passing  figure  of  a  season 
held  her  own  amid  the  feverish  competition  of  London  life.  Rival  after 
rival  had  attempted  to  oust  her  from  her  throne  but  had  been  forced  to  retire  into 
the  obscurity  from  which  they  came.  During  this  time,  lionized,  worshipped, 
mobbed  at  railway  stations  and  even  in  Hyde  Park,  she  had  not  only  moved  as  an 
equal  but  reigned  as  a  sovereign  in  that  rather  nii.xed  set,  the  entree  to  which  is 
most  highly  cov-eted  in  England.  Her  face  was  as  familiar  to  the  country  folks 
as  that  of  the  Queen;  one  of  the  Cairo  donkeys  was  called  "Lily  Langtry,"  and 
we  remember  in  18S1  finding  a  portrait  of  her  nailed  up  in  a  snowshed  on  Mar- 
shall Pass,  Colorado.  All  this  was  not  her  doing,  but  society's.  The  wife  of  a 
not  wealthy  Belfast  man,  the  daughter  of  an  impecunious  Dean  of  St.  Heliers, 
London  society  insisted  in  placing  her  on  its  throne.  It  was  an  ordeal  that  might 
have  transfigured  St.  Agnes  herself.  But  in  IVIrs.  Langtry 's  case  the  victim  un- 
derwent no  visible  change.  Royal  academicians  had  protested  a  head  more  per- 
fect had  never  been  possessed  by  woman.  The  poets  of  the  period  hailed  her 
as  the  new  Helen  of  Troy.  Princes  and  peers  prostrated  themselves  before  her. 
■tS  Society's  verdict  was  so  strong  that  it  silenced  the  voice  of  feminine  malignity, 
except  in  the  case  of  a  few  dowagers  who  objected  to  her  intrusion  in  the  Buck- 
mgham  Palace  ballroom  into  that  part  reserved  for  duchesses  and  marchionesses,  and 
even  they  ended  by  joining  in  the  general  worship.  And  yet  Mrs.  Langtry,  to  whom 
society  had  suggested  the  calling  of  professional  beauty,  was  not  greatly  moved  by  all 
these  things.  Unlike  her  forerunners,  the  Gunnings,  she  displayed  no  insolence,  and  to 
the  end  of  her  brilliant  reign  was  as  courteous  to  city  clerk  as  she  was  to  heir  apparent 
.\or  should  there  be  laid  to  her  account,  as  there  has  been,  ctn&m g^aiiciurits  and  lack 
of  sa7)oir  /aire  of  which  an  Irish  rival  was  really  guilty.  But  to  be  a  queen  of 
society  is  an  expensive  affair,  and  the  news  was  published  that  Mrs.  Langtry,  having 
been  a  success  in  some  private  theatricals,  would  appear  on  the  public  stage.  Her 
debut  was  made  in  London,  in  December,  1S81,  as  Miss  Hardcastle  in  '•  She  Stoops  to 
Conquer,"  and  the  Bancrofts,  .seeing  she  could  not  fail  to  be  a  drawing  card, 
in  "Caste."  In  the  fall  of  the  following  year  Mrs.  Langtry  arrived  in  New  York  and 
was  to  have  appeared  at  the  Park  Theatre.  It  was  burned  down  a  few  hours  before  her  debut  was  to  have  been  made,  and  it  was 
at  Wallack's  that  she  first  appeared  jjcfore  an  American  public,  on  November  6,  1882.  as  Hester  Grazebrook  in  "An  Unequal 
Match."  Her  first  season  in  this  country  netted  her  $102,000,  her  second,  that  of  1883-84,  something  near  $75,000.  Her  third 
was  not  successful,  for  after  having  staged  "  Macbeth  "  at  a  great  expense,  she  found  American  audiences  did  not  appreciate  her  as 
Lady  Macbeth.  She  has  returned  to  us  again  still  a  marvellously  beautiful  woman,  who  in  spite  of  her  forty  years  has  been  able  to 
defy  wrinkles  and  to  preserve  her  wonderful  complexion. 


engaged  her  for  the  pan  of   Blanche   Hayes 


^S;^ 


%:^ 


failier  was  once 


R.  WM.  E.GILLETTE 

was    born    at    Hartford.  Conn. 

United  States  Senator  for  Connecticut  and  one  of  his  brothers  was 
for  a  time  Congressman  from  one  of  the  Western  States.  He  graduated 
at  the  Hartford  High  School  and  studied  also  at  the  University  of  the 
City  of  New  York  and  at  the  Boston  University.  As  a  boy  he  had 
been  famous  among  his  playfellows  for  his  proficiency  in  the  languages  of  cats,  dogs  and  poultry,  and  as 
he  grew  up  he  developed  a  taste  for  the  stage.  He  gave  public  readings  at  a  number  of  the  villages  and 
towns  in  his  .State  and  was  especially  successful  in  his  miitations  of  the  elder  Sothern.  But  his  parents  had  a 
thoroughly  New  England  prejudice  against  actor  folk  and  frowned  upon  any  idea  of  a  stage  career  for  their  son. 
He  cut  the  knot  by  running  away  from  home.  He  met  "Ben"  DeBar,  of  St.  Louis,  who,  finding  that  Mr. 
Gillette  was  willing  to  work  for  nothing  a  week  and  buy  his  own  costumes,  engaged  hmi  as  leading  utility  man 
for  his  New  Orleans  stock  company ;  but  as  soon  as  the  question  of  salary  was  raised  he  received  his  conge. 
Mark  Twain,  who  was  a  neighbor  of  the  Gillettes  in  Hartford,  obtained  for  him  a  position  with  John  T.  Ray- 
mond, and  he  appeared  at  the  Globe  Theatre,  Boston,  in  "The  Gilded  Age."  For  two  seasons  he  was  with 
Macauley's  stock  company  in  Cincinnati  and  Louisville  and  afterwards  spent  a  season  with  a  travelling  company. 
He  then  set  to  work  on  a  piece  called  "  The  Professor,"  taken  from  a  character  sketch.  He  spent  a  year  and 
all  the  money  he  had— "and  all  the  money  another  man  had,"  he  will  tell  you — trying  to  start  it.  Luck  turned 
at  last.  .The  play  got  a  hearing,  with  Mr.  Gillette  in  the  tule  role,  at  the  Madison  Square  Theatre,  New  York. 
It  was  a  great  success  and  ran  at  that  theatre  from  the  beginning  of  June  until  the  end  of  the  following  October. 
For  two  seasons  it  was  played  in  the  principal  cities  in  the  Union.  "The  Professor  "  was  succeeded  at  the 
Madison  Square  Theatre  by  '■  Esmeralda,"  in  the  writing  of  which  Mr.  Gillette  assisted  Mrs.  Hodgson  Burnett. 
At  the  close  of  "The  Professor's"  successful  run  he  played  for  a  season  in  "Young  Mrs.  \Vinthrop."  In 
September,  1S84,  he  produced  at  the  Comedy  Theatre,  New  York,  his  adaptation  of  \'on  Mosler's  "  Der  Biblio- 
■  thekar"  under  the  title  of   "  Digby's  Secretary."  in  which  he  played  the  part  of  the  secretary,  the   Rev.  Job 

McCosh.      On  the  same  night  ^Ir.  A.  M.  Palmer  produced  "The   Private  .Secretary,"   Hawtrey's  adaptation  of 
the  same  German  play.      Both  proved  successful  and  a  lawsuit  was  pending  between  the  owners  of  the  two 
plays.     A  compromise,  however,  was  agreed  upon.      The  best  parts  of  each  adaptation  were  combined  and 
Mr.  Gillette  played  the  Private  Secretary  with  great  success  for  about  two  years.      Meanwhile  he  was  at  work 
on  "  Held  by  the  Enemy,"  which  was  first  produced  at  the  Criterion  Theatre,  Brooklyn,  in   1886.     Mr.  Gillette  occasionally  played 
the  part  of  Thomas  Bean,  the  special  artist  for  an  illustrated   paper,  m  the  principal  cities  of  this  country.      In  the  following  year  his 
adaptation  of  Rider  Haggard's  "  She  "  was  produced  in  New  York.      In   1890  came  his  "  All  the  Comforts  of  Home,"  from  the 
German,  and   in    1891    another  of   his   works,   "Mr.  Wilkinson's   Widows,"  adapted  from   Alexandre   Buisson's    "Feu    Toupinel." 
But  the  author  had  in  the  meanwhile  been  compelled  to  retire  temporarily  from  the  stage  on  account  of  sickness.      He  has  reappeared 
to  delight  crowded  houses  in  "  Too  Much  Johnson."  in  which  his  performance  of  a  modern   Ananias   is  a  delightfully  racy  piece  of 
work.     The  idea  of  one  act  of  the  play  is  borrowed.      "  Too  Much  Johnson  "  is  beyond  this  entirely  original. 


r 


—34- 


n-'rnin  ;i  phnto>;ra|)!i  Iiy  Sjimny,  New  York.) 


OLGA    NETHERSOLE. 

O.MK  stock  company  has  siifferetl  a  great  loss  in  not  liaving 
Miss  Oiga  Nethersoleasa  member,  but  the  public — or,  at  any 
rate,  the  American  public — has  gained  nothing  by  seeing  her 
as  a  star.      If  she  has  the  divine  afflatus  that  the  English  critics  declare  she  has, 
she  failed  to  prove  it  either  in  "The  Transgressor"  or  in   "Camille."     She  has 
undoubtedly  certain  charms  such  as  vouth.  good  looks  and  grace  of  figure  a&  well 
as  of  manner.      .She  possesses  a  musical  voice  and  a  sympathetic  personality,  but 
she  is  of  the  stage  stagey.     Her  art  is  not  yet  so  rounded  that  she  can  hide  its  tricks; 
when  she  would  be  intense  she  is  simply  e.xaggerated,  and  her  emotions  rarely  appear 
spontaneous.      Perhaps,  behind  all  this  there  is  true  genius,  for  we  must   remember 
that  the  genius  of  Sarah  Jiernhartit  was  not  recognized  for  years  and  that  of  Sarah 
-Siddons  lay  hidden  under  a  bushel  for  a  long  time  before  Lord  Ailesbury  discovered 
it.      And  even  then  she  was  a  failure  in  London.      But  Miss  Nethersole's  genius   has 
not  yet  shown  itself  m  this  country.      .Miss   Xethersole  has  only  been  on  the  sta;.;e 
seven  years  and  had  not  been  on  it  five  when  she  took  to  starring  in  .Australia.     Sarah 
Siddons  had  been  an  actress  fourteen  years  before  London  would  accept  her.      Not  for 
a  moment  do  1  wish  to  imply  that  Miss  Xethersole  is  not  fifty  per  cent,  better  than  the  majority 
of  our  emotional  stars;  but  I  cannot  agree  with  the  P-nglish  critics  who  hail  her  as  the  suc- 
cessor of  .Adelaide  Neilson.      That  she  tiiay  become  so  I  do  not  deny,  for  Neilson  only  be- 
came a  great  actress  a  few  years  before  she  died.     There  would  be  more  hope  for  her  were 
she  not  surrounded  by  so  many  busy  flatterers  in  London  town,  who  will  doubtless  tell 
er  we  .Americans  cannot  recognize  true  genius  when  we  see  it. 

Miss  Xethersole,  who  is  the  youngest  daughter  of  a  London  solicitor,  was  born 
in  the  roval  borough  of  Kensington  some  twenty-five  years  ago.     Most 
of  her  childhood  was  spent  in  Germany.      When  she  was  eighteen 
she   made   her    first    appearance  on  the  stage  at  the  Theatre 
Royal,  Brighton,  playing  the  part  of  Lettice  Vance,  the  in- 
genue role  in   "Harvest."     Then  she  joined  the  company 
of  .Arthur  Dacre  and  his  wife  (Amy  Roselle)  and  played  in 
;:'  the  English  provinces  and  afterwards  with  the  companies 

ol  Lionel  ISrough  and  Willie  Edouin.  Her  first  London 
■'  /  hit  was  made  in  melodrairia  at  the  Adelphi  Theatre.  She 
;''  next  accepted  an  engagement  to  play  the  second  woman's  part 
in  Pinero's  "  Profligate,"  at  the  Garrick  Theatre,  and  afterwards 
was  engaged  as  understudy  to  Mrs.  Bernard  Beere  in  "  La  Tosca." 
This  was  immediately  followed  by  her  going  to  Australia  with 
her  own  companv.  When  she  returned  to  London  she  took 
the  part  of  Countess  Zicka  in  the  revival  of  "Diplomacy." 
Miss  Xethersole  became  a  character  in  London  society  and 
was  asked  everywhere.  As  society  is  not  as  a  rule 
very  discriminating  in  its  praise,  this  may  have  turned 
the  head  of  the  charming  young  actress.  At  any 
rate  she  hired  the  Garrick  Theatre  and  produced  there 
A.  W.  Gattie's  piece  called  "The  Transgre.ssor. "  It 
made  a  tremendous  hit  in  London,  though  why  it  is 
difficult  to  under-.tand.  Labouchere  told  .Miss  Nether.sole  that  all  the  great  heroines  of  dramatic  fiction  were  at  her  command.  She 
came  to  this  country  and  opened  in  "The  Transgressor"  at  Palmer's  Theatre,  New  York,  last  October.  She  proved  a  disappoint- 
ment. When  she  next  appeared,  and  for  the  first  time  in  the  part,  as  Marguerite  Gautier — or  as  we  absurdly  insist  upon  calling 
her,  Camille — in  an  antiquated  and  horrible  translation  of  "  La  Dame  aux  Camelias,"  some  did  recognize  in  her  a  great  actress;  but 
she  was  still  very  stagey.  It  should  be  stated  that  the  version  used  was  not  the  one  Miss  Xethersole  had  studied,  and  that  she  had 
to  relearn  the  part  of  Marguerite  because,  forsooth,  Americans  have  stood  a  poor  translation  for  nearly  forty  years. 


-36- 


(I'r.iiu  a  |>h.>t<>u><'M>l>  '>J'  Sarony,  New  York.) 


% 


R.FREDERIC    DE  -" 

BELLEVILLE  has  no    ,"_       /'' 
equal  on  the  American 
stage  of  to-day  as  a   "leading  man." 
It  may  be  that  he  will  not  startle  his  audiences  i 
with  a  highly  original  conception,  but  he  is  al- 
ays  sure  to  give  it  a  performance   far  above  the  mediocre, 
riiis  is  not  "  damning  with  small  praise,"  for  although  Mr. 
(le  lielleville  cannot  be  considered  one  of  the  great  mod- 
ern actors,  there  are  many  leading  parts  he  has  hlltd  far 
more  satisfactorily  than  could  the  greatest ;  and  he  has 
r  made  a  failure.      Mr.  William   Winter  has  de- 
bed  him  as  "an  actor  who  has  manliness,  grace,  passion, 
bility  and  presence,  a  rich  voice  and  finished  style,  and  m 
hose  acting  the  illusion  is  always  perfectly  preserved." 

In  short  he  is  an  excellent  all-round  actor.      The  son  of  a  colonel   in  the  Belgian 
army,  Mr.  de  Belleville  was  born  at  Liege.      He  served  as  a  soldier  for  a  short 

time,  but  getting  sick  of  discipline,  crossed  to  London  and  took  up 

/i''^/ ■       ^^K^i^^'^^^^l^  ^  "'^   °^^^Bk         il^^     ^^'^  stage  as  a  profession.      He  made  his  first  appearance  in    "Fair 

mM  J  ^S^^^^^I^^^HL  i;'^^^^^  ^^^^      Rosamond"  and  then  got  an  engagement  in  a  stock  company  in  tlie 

^Q^  '\^HII|B''I^^IHKL'^  -"^  •^^^HHft.^K  university  city  of  Cambridge,  where  he  gained  plenty  of  experience. 

'D^  ,     ,,      N\Hi^^    j^^BI^^^ '■ji-^^W^^Vv'"  having  to  play  in  a  different  piece  each  night.      After  performing  in 

pantomime — that  is,  what  is  called  in  England  pantomime — he  was 
engaged  by  John  Hollingshead  to  play  at  the  Gaiety,  his  first  appear- 
ance there  being  made  in  "Much  Ado  About  Nothing."  He  scored 
his  first  hit  in  the  part  of  Prince  Kotchicoff  in  "My  Awful  Dad," 
which  he  played  with  the  late  Charles  Mathev.s.  .After  three  years' 
service  at  the  Gaiety  and  performances  at  some  other  London  theatres,  he  went 
to  Australia  and  was  a  great  success  in  Sardou's  "Our  Friends"  {••  A'os  Iii- 
times").  A  year  later  he  was  in  San  Francisco,  where  he  was  engaged  by  Mr. 
"Tom  "  Maguire.  While  performing  there  Mr.  de  Belleville  was  seen  acting  by 
Mr.  A.  M.  Palmer,  who  made  him  an  offer  to  join  the  L'nion  Square  (New  York) 
company.  That  company  was  then  at  the  height  of  its  prosperity,  and  as  a 
member  of  it  .Mr.  de  Belleville  fir.st  came  into  notice  in  New  York.  In  "  Daniel 
Rochat,"  "The  Danicheffs,"  "The  Two  Orphans"  and  "The  Lights  o'  Lon- 
don" he  had  remarkable  success,  and  while  playing  in  these  pieces  appeared 
at  the  same  theatre  as  leading  support  of  Clara  Morris  at  a  series  of  matinees 
gii'en  at  the  same  theatre.  .At  the  close  of  a  three-year  engagement  with 
Mr.  Palmer,  Mr.  de  Belleville  appeared  as  a  star  first  in  "The  Corsican 
Brothers"  and  later  in  "Monte  Cristo, "  "The  Silver  King"  and  Bartley 
Campbell's  "Paquita,"  in  which  last  play  he  was  particularly  successful.  He 
then  returned  to  San  Francisco  as  leading  man  at  the  California  Theatre.  For  a  season  he  supported  Miss  Rose  Coghlan  and  after- 
ward created  the  part  of  the  Due  de  Beaumont  in  Steele  Mackaye's  "  Paul  Kauvar,"  when  it  was  produced  at  Buffalo.  This  was 
followed  by  his  appearance  in  •'  Hoodman  IMind,"  and  then  for  two  seasons  he  supported  Clara  Morris.  He  then  appeared  in  "  i\Ien 
and  Women,"  as  Henry  Beauclerc  in  "Diplomacy"  and  Martial  Hugon  in  "  Thcrniidor."  He  joined  the  Coghlans  and  played 
Count  Orloff  as  well  as  Henry  Beauclerc  in  "  Diplomacy  "  and  when  W.  H.  Crane  revived  "  The  Senator,"  took  the  part  of  Count 
Von  Strahl.     At  this  writing  lie  is  playing  in  "  To  Nemesis  "  at  the  Star  Theatre,  New  York. 


.3 


-38- 


iKroiii  a  phnliiKiapIi  hy  Sarniiy,  New  \t»U. 


r 


■  The  New  Wom- 
an "  was  produced  for  the 
first   time  in  New  York   it 
was  not  so  much  the  fame  of  the  play's  great 
success  in  London,  nor  the  knowledge  that  Syd- 
ney Grundy  had  put  into  it  some  of  his  best  work,  that 
attracted  most  of  the  audience.     Thev  had  come  to  wel- 
come back  to  the  stage  Miss  Annie  Russell,  the  poetical 
beauty  of  whose  Elaine  could  never  be  effaced  from  the 
memories  of  those  who  had  seen  it.  To  reproduce  before  the 
garish  footlights,  where  the  touch  must  be  broad  and  bold  to 
give  effect,  a  character  so  refined — the  most  delicately  pure  ever 

created  by  poet's  fancy — as  that  of  the  Lily  Maid  of  .Astolat.  seemed  an  impossibility  until 
.Miss  .Annie  Russell  appeared  as  the  heroine  of  Tennyson's  "  Idyll  "  at  the  Madison  Square 
Theatre,  New  York.  It  was  the  crowning  effort  of  her  artistic  career,  but  before  she 
could  gather  all  the  laurels  thrown  at  her  feet  the  new  Elaine  succumbed  to  a  sickness  whose 
shadow  had  been  hovering  over  her  since  childhood.  For  nearly  four  years  she  was  a  help- 
less invalid ;  time  and  again  she  was  face  to  face  with  death  and  rarely  free  from  pain. 
Through  it  all  the  gentle  sweetness  of  her  character  showed  itself  more  strongly  than  ever. 
A  winter  and  spring  passed  in  Italy  almost  completed  the  cure  the  New  York  doctors  had 
commenced.  She  returned  to  the  stage.  The  reception  Miss  Russell  received  when  she 
appeared  as  Margery  in  "The  New  Woman  "  showed  how  delighted  the  public  was  to  see 
this  most  charming  and  simple  of  ingenues  again  and  to  hear  once  more  her  melodious  voice. 
Miss  Annie  Russell  was  born  in  Liverpool,  England.  Her  father  was  a  Dublin  Univer- 
sity man  of  considerable  talent  and  her  mother  an  Englishwoman.  When  she  was  eleven 
years  old  she  made  her  first  theatrical  appearance  at  Montreal  as  one  of  the  children  in 
"  Miss  Multon,"  .Miss  Rose  Eytinge  acting  the  leading  character,  and  continued  to  play 
children's  parts  in  the  regular  stock  company.  The  following  season  found  her  in  New 
York,  where  she  joined  Haverly's  Juvenile  "Pinafore"  Company,  first  singing  in  the  chorus  and  later  the 
part  of  Josephine.  Then  came  the  inevitable  Eva  of  "  L'ncle  Tom's  Cabin  "  and  a  few  other  characters  of  minor 
importance.  The  young  lady  had  now  reached  that  awkward  age  which  the  fairest  upon  earth  must  needs  pass 
through  before  they  blossom  forth  into  beautiful  womanhood.  So  she  was  sent  off  to  the  West  Indies  with  G.  A. 
McDowell's  stock  company,  principally  to  look  after  her  small  brother,  Tommy  Russell,  the  original  Little  Lord  Fauntleroy,  who  was 
to  play  the  children's  parts,  and  incidentally  to  fill  any  role  that  she  might  be  suited  to.  The  manager  appears  to  have  found  a  good 
many  for  her  to  fill,  and  as  she  will  laughingly  tell  you,  she  became  a  sort  of  maid  of  all  work  to  the  company.  She  was  thrust  into 
such  parts  as  Moya  in  "  The  Shaughraun,"  Lord  IJarnley  in  "  The  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold  "  and  Old  Mrs.  Gummidge  in  "  Little 
Emily";  she  played  the  British  "slavey"  and  the  mischievous  boy.  In  short,  she  gave  the  West  Indians  a 
taste  of  her  quality  in  pretty  well  every  class  of  character  except  that  of  old  men  and  villains.  Miss  Rus- 
sell's first  generally  recognized  success  was  made  when  she  returned  to  New  York  and  created  the  title  role 
of  Esmeralda  at  the  Madison  Square  (now  Hoyt's)  Theatre.  For  nearly  three  hundred  and  fifty  nights  she 
charmed  the  New  York  theatre-goer  with  this  performance,  and  for  a  season  fascinated 
audiences  on  the  road  in  the  same  part.  After  playing  for  a  short  time  in  John  Stetson's 
troupe  she  rejoined  the  .Madison  Square  company.  It  was  her  Elaine  that  placed  her  in 
the  first  rank  of  actresses,  and  it  was  at  the  age  of  twenty-one  that  she  was  compelled  to 
retire  from  a  position  she  had  securely  established  for  herself  in  the  world  of  art. 


y." 


-40- 


(Kritni  a  photojpaph  by  Sarony,  New  Vork) 


he  disports — 'Flams, 


THK  ILLUSTRATED  AMERICAN  re- 
cently said  of  William  E.  Hoey: 
presume  that  it  will  strike  some — 
many — persons  as  an  absurdity  to  speak  ol 
William  E.  Hoey — 'Bill'  Hoey  is  the  way 
he  is  usually  spoken  of — as  an  artist.  He  is 
an    artist,  though.     His  style   of  performaiu-e 

may  be  coarse  and  rough;  but  his  manner  of  doing  it  is  refined  and 
his  methods  are  genuinely  artistic  in  their  way.  The  plays  in  which 
'The  Parlor  Match'  and  so  on — are  not  such  as  the  world  of  letters  unwillingly  lets  die;  but  for  all  that 
there  is  a  distinctive  delicacy  in  Hoey's  exLra\'agances,  a  nice  sense  of  proportion,  coloring,  high  light  and  shadow  that  give  his  effects 
the  character  of  intelligently-conceived  impersonations.  .-Xud  therefore  I  make  bold  to  term  Mr.  Hoey  an  arti.st."  Now,  this  artist, 
who  as  a  renderer  of  topical  songs — and  we  use  the  word  "  renderer  "  advisedly,  for  no  one  can  accuse  Mr.  Hoey  of  being  a  singer — 
has  no  rival  on  the  American  stage,  made  his  debut  at  a  variety  show  as  a  performer  on  the  cow  horn  and  cow  bells.  This  was  in 
the  spring  of  1874  and  the  debut  was  made  at  Tony  Pastor's  Theatre,  New  York.  The  idea  was  novel  and  it  made  such  a  hit  that 
the  size  of  the  letters  which  formed  his  name  on  the  bill,  as  well  as  his  salary,  was  increased.  The  following  vear  found  him  a  mem- 
ber of  Carrington's  circus,  which  gave  him  an  opportunity  of  doing  many  things,  including  the  "side  show  spiel  "  and  a  musical  act 
in  "the  concert."  But  the  circus  came  to  grief  and  Hoey  went  to  Savannah,  Ga.,  in  search  of  an  engagement.  He  found  one,  but 
at  the  end  of  three  weeks  discovered  that  no  salary  was  attached  to  the  position;  at  any  rate,  if  there  ever  had  been  one  it  had  disap- 
peared. A  longing  to  return  to  New  York,  where  he  was  born  in  1855.  came  over  him.  But  he  hadn't  a  cent  to  bless  himself  with. 
All  he  owned  was  the  clothes  he  had  on,  exxellent  health  and  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  good  humor.  Thus  equipped,  he  started  to 
walk  home.  Before  he  reached  New  York  he  learned  to  appreciate  the  comic  side  of  a  tramp's  existence  and  he  conceived  the  char- 
acter of  "  Old  Hoss."  determining  that  if  fortune  ever  smiled  upon  him  he  would  place  that  remarkable  being  on  the  stage.  He  paid 
his  way  by  jokes  along  the  road,  gained  a  number  of  friends  on  the  route  through  his  infinite  good  humor,  and  when  he  arrived  at 
last  at  his  native  city  could  boast  he  had  not  received  a  pennyworth  of  charity.  In  i876  he  entered  into  partnership  with  Fred 
Bryant,  and  the  firm,  under  the  name  of  Bryant  and  Hoey,  did  a  musical  act  which  brought  dollars  as  well  as  applause.  Then  for 
five  years  they  were  members  of  Tony  Pastor's  company.  In  1882  was  formed  the  firm  of  Xiles,  Evans,  Bryant  and  Hoey,  known 
as  the  Black  Comedy  team,  which  met  with  great  siurcess  all  over  the  country  in  a  short  piece  called  "The  Meteors."  In  1884 
Evans  and  Hoey  joined  forces  and  made  the  great  hit  of  their  lives  in  "A  Parlor  Match,"  by  Charles  Hoyt.  Mr.  Hoyt  was  a  Boston 
newspaper  paragrapher  when  Mr.  Hoey  suggested  to  him  that  he  should  weave  the  specialties  of  himself  and  his  partner  into  a  one- 
act  farce.  Hoey's  experiences  as  a  tramp  came  in  good  stead  and  "Old  Hoss"  was  the  result.  "The  Book  .Agent,  or  a  Parlor 
Match,"  was  the  first  of  these  farce-comedies  which  have  driven  the  dramatic  critics  almost  crazy,  but  which  have  made  the  fortunes 
of  many  men  in  the  theatrical  profession.  "The  Parlor  Match"  ran  until  last  May,  when  owing  to  the  failing  health  of  Mr.  Evans 
the  partnership  of  Evans  and  Hoey  was  dissolved.      "  Bill  "  Hoey  then  produced  "  The  Flams," 


,  |,li..l,)Kr.i|ili  l.> 


LLK.  ZELIE  DE  LUSSAN— 
these  are  no  stage  names,  fur 
the  one  she  received  by  inher- 
ice  and  the  other  at  the  baptismal 
ont — has  one  gift  that  has  been 
denied  to  most  American  song- 
birds— a  dramatic  instinct.  .She 
i>  not  only  a  singer  of  the  first 
rank,  with  a  voice  full  of  feel- 
ing, but  she  is  an  admirable 
actress.  This  she  doubtless 
owes  to  her  Latni  origin,  for 
lough  born  and  bred  in  New  York, 
h  her  parents  are  French,  and  Mile, 
de  Lussan  is  herself  French  to  the  tips 
of  her  lingers.  Her  beauty  is  of  that  rich  type  wliich  we  imagine  must  have  come  from 
a  Bearnaise  source;  there  is  just  the  faintest  suspicion  of  a  French  accent  in  the  roll  of  her 
R's;  and  like  many  of  the  daughters  of  Gaul,  she  preserves  that  r/z/V"  which  can  neither 
be  translated  into  nor  defined  in  English.  To  her  mother,  Madame  Eugenie  de  Lussan, 
who  was  a  well-known  singer  in  earlier  days,  she  owes  her  lyric  talent  and  education,  for 
she  has  had  no  other  teacher  in  singing.  The  other  arts  she  learned  at  Madame  Myers' 
well-known  school  m  New  York.  Her  first  public  appearance  was  made  when  she  was 
nine  years  old  and  sang  at  a  charity  concert  given  at  the  church  of  the  Rev.  George  Hep- 
worth,  whose  .Sunday  sermons  published  in  the  Xew  N'oik  Hi-rald  are  leading  so  many 
misguided  .Americans  back  into  the  paths  of  grace.  .After  having  gained  considerable 
praise  for  her  singing  at  the  Wagner  Festivals  in  this  country,  .Mile,  de  Lussan  joined  the 
Boston  Ideal  Opera  Company.  Her  first  appearance  with  this  company  was  made  as 
.\rline  in  "  The  Bohemian  Girl."  and  so  great  was  her  success  that  she  was  engaged  for 
the  ne.\t  three  years  by  the  English  Opera  Company.  With  it  she  travelled  through  the 
United  States  and  took  the  leading  soprano  parts  in  "The  Daughter  of  the  Regiment.  " 
"  Carmen,"  "  The  Eli.\ir  of  Love,"  '•  Faust,"  '■  Giralda,"  and  "  The  Queen's  Musketeers." 
She  was  playing  Carmen  in  Philadelphia  when  Colonel  Mapleson,  the  English  impresario, 
heard  her  and  advised  her  to  go  to  England,  where  he  felt  sure  she  would  meet  with  suc- 
cess. Mile,  de  Lussan  went  to  London  in  1888,  more  with  the  idea  of  enjoying  a  much- 
needed  rest  than  of  obtaining  an  engagement.  While  there,  however,  she  sang  the  part  of 
Carmen  at  Covent  Garden,  and  with  such  success  that  she 
was  at  once  engaged  for  the  coming  season.  She  came 
bick  to  mis  country  and  returned  to  London  in  i88g  to 
make  hei  first  appearance  at  Her  Majesty's  Theatre  under 
Colonel  .Mapleson's  management  as  .Marguerite.  Mlle.de 
Lussan  was  "a  very  |ialpable  hit."  and  more  than  con- 
firmed the  good  impression  she  had  made  when  she  ap- 
peared as  Carmen,  since  which  time  her  voice  had  gained 
in  richness.  The  beauty  of  her  voice,  the  charm  of  her 
acting  and  the  true  Italian  style  of  her  singing,  almi'i,c 
forgotten  by  modern  "ocalists,  together  with  her  youth  and  good  looks,  at  once  made  her  a  favorite 
with  the  British  pubnc.  For  U\tt  years  she  has  retained  a  very  tender  spot  in  the  heart  of  the 
people  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland.  During  this  season  she  repeated  her  success  in  •'  Carmen  " 
and  also  san.j  the  part  of  Zerliua  in  "  Don  Giovanni."  She  then  joined  the  Carl  Rosa  opera  troupe, 
which  has  done  so  much  towards  musical  education  in  the  Britisii  Isles.  When  the  Italian  opera 
season  opened  in  London  in  the  following  summer.  Mile,  de  Lussan  again  appeared  as  Carmen  at 
the  Covent  Garden  Theatre,  under  the  management  of  Sir  .Augustus  Harris.  It  was  a  memorable 
cast  that  night,  for  Jean  de  Reszke  took  the  part  of  Don  Jose.  Mile.  .Mclba  that  of  Michaela — both 
for  the  first  time — and  Lassalle  was  the  Toreador,  Over  five  hundred  times  has  .Mile,  de  Lussan 
played  Carmen  in  English,  French  and  Italian. 


^(^tgf^G; 


— 4-t^ 


(Kn.in  ;i  |.li..l"k:ni|ill  I'V 


■.rhri.:.  (■l.i..K..,  1"  > 


EDOUARI)    DE    RESZKE. 


EIJIJUARD  DE  RESZKE  is  as  distinguished  an  artist  as  his  elder  brother  Jean,  a  sketch  of  whom  appeared  in  the  precedinsj 
number  of  the  Gallkrv  of  Plavkus.  Edouard  was  born  on  December  23.  1855,  at  Warsaw.  His  father  was  a  Councillor 
of  State  and  a  man  of  some  prominence  in  Poland.  Warsaw  is  a  sort  of  half-way  house  between  the  rest  of  Europe  and  St. 
Petersburg,  and  the  great  musicians  would  usually  halt  there  on  their  way  to  the  Russian  capital.  As  Madame  de  Reszke  was  a 
remarkable  musician  herself,  they  were  naturally  attracted  while  at  Warsaw  to  the  State  Councillor's  salons,  so  that  the  young  De 
Reszkes  were  brought  up  in  a  musical  atmosphere.  Edouard  was  intended  for  a  farming  life  and  he  underwent  a  course  of  scientific 
studies  at  the  College  d'.A.griculture  of  Priskao,  in  Silesia.  But  Jean,  who  had  just  entered  on  his  extraordinarily  successful  career 
on  the  stage,  persuaded  Edouard  to  desert  bucolicism  and  to  try  the  more  remunerative  profession  of  singing.  Nature  had  endowed 
him  with  a  tremendous  bass  voice  and  a  huge  frame,  though  not  quite  as  big  as  that  of  his  celebrated  predecessor,  Lablache,  of 
whom  Henry  Chorley  said.  "One  could  have  clad  a  child  in  one  of  his  gloves."  Until  his  brother  spoke  to  him  on  the  subject 
Edouard  had  never  thought  of  becoming  a  second  Lablache.  However,  having  once  made  up  his  mind  to  be  a  singer,  he  worked 
hard  and  with  the  best  masters.  Jean  was  one  of  them.  Ceaffei,  Stetler  and  Coletti  were  the  others.  When  Jean  first  took  his 
brother  in  hand,  Edouard  was  twenty  years  old.  He  had  a  voice  that  resembled  nothing  so  much  as  that  we  are  led  to  understand 
was  possessed  by  the  bull  of  Bashan.  It  took  some  time  before  he  was  able  to  get  it  under  control,  but  by  degrees  it  developed  into 
a  rich,  profound  bass  of  a  range  and  quality  seldom  heard.  His  art,  like  that  of  Jean,  was  founded  on  the  traditions  of  the  old 
Italian  school — the  school  which  had  produced  the  Giuglinis,  the  Marios,  the  Pastas,  the  Crisis  and  the  Lablaches  of  the  past;  and 
now  that  great  voice  of  Edouard  de  Reszke  can  be  tender,  soft  and  low  at  one  moment  and  at  the  ne.xt  rise  into  mighty  tones  of 
splendid  liinbrc.  It  was  in  April,  1S76,  that  Edouard  de  Reszke  made  his  debut  at  the  Salle  X'entadour  (the  celebrated  old  Italien's 
where  Orsini  attempted  the  life  of  Napoleon  III.),  in  Paris.  On  that  occasion  he  sang  the  part  of  the  King  in  "  .-Vida, "  and  will 
even  to-day  relate  with  pride  that  his  first  appearance  in  public  was  made  sons  la  baguette  dc  Verdi — under  the  leadership  of  the  great 
old  composer  himself.  His  debut  was  a  success  and  gave  promise  of  a  great  future.  In  Paris  he  continued  to  sing  for  two  seasons, 
and  that  city  is  now  \.\\^  pied  a  terre  of  the  De  Reszke  brothers  and  of  the  family  of  Edouard,  who  married  a  Mademoiselle  Schullz, 
a  well-known  singer  in  the  French  capital.  In  1880  he  went  to  Italy  and  at  Turin  created  II  Re  in  Catalims  ••  Elda"  and  Charles 
V.  in  Marchetti's  "Don  John  of  Austria."  .At  Milan  he  appeared  in  the  production  of  Ponchilli's  ■•  Prodigal  Son."  But  it  is  need- 
less to  recapitulate  all  the  parts  Edouard  de  Reszke  has  created  or  appeared  in,  especially  as  we  are  not  likely  to  see  him  in  the 
majority  of  them.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  when  he  arrived  in  this  country  in  1S91  he  had  a  repertoire  of  sixty-five  parts  and  has  since 
added  considerably  to  it.  During  the  seasons  of  1880-84  ''e  sang  with  llie  Royal  Italian  Opera  in  London.  He  first  took  his  place 
as  a  foremost  lyric  artist  by  his  performances  of  St.  Bris,  the  CoLint  in  "  Sonnambula."  Basilio,  and  later  on  as  Mephistopheles,  which 
part  he  played  to  Jean's  Faust  and  .Adelina  Patti's  Marguerite,  in  Paris,  on  the  occasion  of  the  five  hundredth  performance  of  "Faust," 
November  4,  1887.  Less  than  a  month  before  he  had  appeared  as  Leporello  in  the  centenary  performance  of  "  Don  Giovanni." 
Edouard  and  Jean  de  Reszke  appeared  together  for  Sir  .Augustus  Harris  at  Covent  Garden,  London,  in  1888.  It  was  known  as  the 
De  Reszke  year  and  made  the  fortune  of  Sir  .Augustus.  They  came  here  in  1891.  Edouard  made  his  first  appearance  at  the  Metro- 
politan Opera  House  on  December  14  of  that  year  and  played  the  part  of  Friar  Laurence  in  "  Romeo  et  Juliette."  At  first  perhaps 
the  American  public  did  not  appreciate  how  great  an  artist  he  was,  but  when  he  appeared  as  Mephistopheles  in  "Faust,"  a  favorite 
part  of  his,  it  was  realized  that  in  that  particular  role  lie  had  no  equal.  To-day  it  is  acknowledged  by  all  that  he  is  the  head  bass 
singer  and  actor  on  the  lyric  stage.  The  modern  operas  do  not  give  the  same  opportunities  to  a  bass  voice  as  those  which  delighted 
our  fathers  and  mothers,  and  Edouard  de  Reszke  has  lately  tried  his  hand,  and  with  great  success,  at  playing  baritone  parts.  He  has 
appeared,  for  instance,  during  the  present  operatic  season  as  Escainillo  in  "Carmen."  If  he  is  somewhat  bulky  for  the  part,  h« 
plays  the  role  of  the  braggart,  bullying  toreador  to  the  life  and  sings  the  music  to  perfection.  Last  summer  he  created  in  London  the 
King's  part  in  Bemberg's  "Elaine,"  the  book  of  which  is  taken  from  Tennyson's  "  Idylls  of  the  Kings";  and  he  and  his  brother  Jean 
will  appear  in  the  opera  in  this  country.  In  appearance  Edouard  de  Reszke  bears  a  striking  resemblance  to  the  late  Czar  of  Russia  as 
he  was  ten  years  ago. 


-46- 


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